


be the ocean where i unravel

by buries



Category: DCU, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/M, Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Wondertrev Love Week, Wondertrev Love Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: you will not have him for eternity. but you will have him.or the one where steve comes back to diana.





	1. oh, i beg you, can i follow?

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for wondertrevnet @ tumblr's [wondertrev love week](https://wondertrevnet.tumblr.com/post/175651939595/wondertrev-love-week-2018-4-11-august). this was actually meant to be a one-shot, but as i was writing it i realised that firstly, it wasn't going to work as a one-shot, and secondly, i didn't want it to be a one-shot. from my very rough outline, i will be using all the prompts from the love week to form this story.
> 
> i've been inspired and dying to write something for steve/diana that takes the theory of wonder woman 1984 incorporating the idea that hades will grant diana the wish of seeing steve every so often, hence him wearing a fanny pack in the stills of 1984. this is simply my version of what i'd like to see -- a version of it, as i love this concept so much.
> 
> the prompt for day one is ww84, and that's where we will start. this will include some of our favourite (and not so favourite) greek gods as well, altered to fit the dcu universe and my vision of what this story will be.
> 
> i am hoping to write this every day, although i am already a day behind. we will see!
> 
> this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thank you for reading! the title is from lykke li's _i follow rivers_ , and all the chapters will be, too.

Diana holds a torch in her hand as she waits. The flames flicker brightly across her face, but the warmth she usually feels has been carved out of the golden glow. It’s cold, like the memory of Themyscira’s waters. Had it always felt like ice? Or did she wish for it to be, so she would long for it less?

When a black she-dog appears, Diana does not flinch. She waits for it to approach her, submerged in the shadows of the abandoned road she stands within. Its eyes are sharp, ears fully erect, and tail standing tall, like a fin. It’s muscular in a way a street dog isn’t. Powerful hind legs, powerful tail, powerful ears; all of it is sharp, listening, watching, and capturing each scent of emotion the world around it feeds her. 

The dog moves toward her slowly, sniffing subtly at the air.

Once it approaches her, she does not lower herself. This isn't a street dog, desperate for a flicker of affection in the form of a scratch behind its ear or chin. The black she-dog sizes her up, sniffing at her boots and bare legs. It’s sizing her up, determining with its intelligent eyes whether she is friend or foe.

It nudges its snout into the back of her knee, testing her. Diana refuses to sway.

Friend it is.

Her mother had once told her Hades was a man of his word. Kind and gentle, full of love and hope, he would do all he could to see a smile blossom on the lips of his beloved. The Underworld had been filled with brightness when his heart yearned to bring Persephone into the pits of Hades much earlier than anticipated. Antiope once told her he would beg and plead for her soul to be brought to him, to keep him warm where the winter chill of her absence had left him rigid.

“I had asked him for you,” Hippolyte had once told her. “He could not grant me you. But he tried.”

Diana hadn’t understood then. How could the God of the Dead bring life to the greatest Amazon to ever live? He was a thief. He took and he took, leaving once fully bloomed flowers wilted and brittle in their wake.

For so long Diana had refused to give it any heed. When the plane in Germany had collapsed in itself into a fiery pit of flames, when Chief had walked into the valley of death with his head held high, and when Charlie had sung himself to an endless sleep, Diana had refused to beg Hades for them. 

Sameer had been the last, defiant until the very end to admit that he could hear the ticking of another's watch. She had watched him pray to the God of the Dead, requesting of him to grant him safe passage, beautiful women, and a fulfilling life for his friend, the impenetrable, immortal Diana Prince. Diana had never felt inspired to follow in his footsteps. Who was she to take away their eternal slumber? Hades could not give life, even when it was in death.

“You asked for me,” says a female voice, strong and firm, yet it echoes like the wind. When Diana turns, she sees her. The goddess of the crossroads. “I see you have learned from Demeter.”

“My mother told me the tales,” she says, arching her neck as she stares into the shadows. 

“Hippolyta,” the shadow says. Her silhouette is difficult to see within the night. Diana refuses to narrow her eyes to search for her. “The queen of the Amazons. The child bearer of one of Zeus’ greatest children.”

Her brow furrows. “You know who I am?”

“You wear the armour of the Amazon,” Hecate says. Diana sees the silhouette tip her head as she appraises her. “It is the armour of my dearest friend.”

Diana glances down at the black she-dog.

“She won’t bite,” Hecate says. She approaches, gravel shifting beneath her silhouetted feet. “Neither will I.” Once Diana blinks, a flame flickers before her. Stealing from the fire of her own torch, Hecate’s silhouette grows muscle and flesh, revealing a woman of thin stature and a dark complexion standing before her. In her hands is a torch, newly lit from Diana’s own flame.

She allows herself to look down at the dog, now sitting on the tip of her boot. Diana doesn’t hesitate. She lowers herself, holding her torch high, to scratch the black she-dog beneath the chin. A smile pulls at her lips.

“Diana, Princess of Themyscira,” Hecate says, observing her. “Daughter of Hippolyta and Zeus, the God of Gods. Godkiller. Wonder Woman, as the mortals who have been fortunate enough to know you call you.” Diana glances up at her, seeing her dark eyes glow silver in the shape of full moons. Her hair is intricately braided, similar to that of the Amazons. “I have been waiting for you for decades.”

“Decades?” she asks, disliking the childish quality to her own voice. Her fingers scratch behind the black she-dog’s ear. “Why have you been waiting for me?”

“I have been waiting for you to ask me,” she says, hands clasped in front of her. Diana looks at her fingers, noting how the long nails are painted black with flickers of silver. She wears the night on her hands. 

Suddenly, her vision turns red. Hot, gold, flickering of flames. Shrapnel litters the asphalt ground haphazardly, turning an air hanger into a graveyard of fire and debris. The smell of gasoline is pungent in the air.

It disappears as quickly as it forms. 

Hecate's torch remains by her side, held up near her shoulder, while Diana's remains in the air, away from the black she-dog. Diana blinks, shaking her head and stumbling in her scratching of the black she-dog’s ears. 

Although the heat of Hecate’s torch has dulled, allowing her to see the lines of the goddess’ smooth face and the strands of fur on the she-dog’s head, when she peers across the crossroads, she can see the silhouette of a man. He wears furs, thick enough to shield him from the cold. His hair falls into his face. The darkness shields him from view, but she can still see the piercing blue of his eyes from her memory.

That is what Themyscira’s waters had been like. Beautiful, warm, encapsulating.

Hecate gently says, “You’ve been very patient.”

Diana swallows thickly, glancing up at the goddess of the crossroads “I will not ask. My mother told me stories of necromancy.” She shakes her head, hearing her voice break, “I will not ask.”

Hecate looks down at her with open pity. The black she-dog begins to whine.

“He asks for you,” Hecate says. All Diana can see is the golden heat of Hecate’s torch. “Every day. And yet you do not ask for him.”

“I cannot,” Diana says quietly. Her hand now grips the leg of the black she-dog, feeling her paw try to press at the pulse in her wrist. “I cannot ask for what I cannot have.”

Hecate lowers herself, endless robes spilling over her knees. She reaches out to pet her she-dog, soothing her with calm, decisive strokes. The she-dog’s whines become softer, though they still pulse right through Diana.

“What if someone has asked for you?” Hecate tilts her head, studying her. Diana allows her to see the conflict — the shine of her eyes, the pressure of her throat as it tightens, the stiffening of her lips. 

She barely hears herself ask: “Who would ask for me?”

Hecate reaches out to stroke her cheek. Her fingers fall into tendrils of shadow, soft as silk as her cold touch lowers to her jawline. She raises Diana’s chin to look her in the eye. “The God of Fate.”

A tear slipping against her jaw startles Diana. Hecate’s fingers catch it; it disappears in wisps of fog. “My father?”

“Ares will never be gone,” Hecate says. “Gods do not die. They are defeated. That is the way fate is woven. But Ares will be weak for a long, long time — and for that, it deserves a reward.”

“Why not bring peace? Why not stop all the wars? Stop all the fighting?”

“You still think like the girl who had left Themyscira on a boat of hope.” Hecate shakes her head. “You cannot erase free will. You can only erase those who play with it, like yarn between two fingers. Without those fingers, the yarn falls. Oftentimes into the hands of another. The hand may be gone, but the yarn still remains. Understand?”

She nods. Diana raises her hand from the black she-dog’s paw to wipe hastily at her wet eyes. “I cannot ask for this.”

“You don’t have to,” Hecate smiles. It’s the smile a mother would wear. It's the smile she longs to see her mother wear again. “It has already been asked. And it will be delivered, as long as you are to collect it.”

Hecate rises, black robes falling against her legs. The torch in her hand burns brightly, outlining the tops of the tallest trees surrounding them at the crossroads. 

“You will not have him for eternity,” she says as Diana stands. The torch in her own hand seems to be waning in vibrancy. It flickers as Hecate speaks. “But you will have him. For as long as Persephone is with her love. The spring shall not be yours, but the winter will be.”

Heart pounding against her armour, Diana’s brows pull together. “For how long?”

Hecate strikes the ground with the end of her torch. The dry earth shatters beneath her feet, cracks quickly bleeding out to all four roads. It stops once it hits the trees, shaking them violently before they still. She stands on a broken piece of earth, still elevated to her full height despite the unevenness of the ground.

“For as long as this torch burns,” she says. Hands hovering over it, the flames roar up to the sky, swirling like that of Hephaestus’ own smithy. “And when it ceases,” she says, fingers poking the fire as it dwindles into a spittle, “you will be called upon once again. It isn’t to do the bidding of Hades, but of Fate.”

The black she-dog nudges her leg with the side of her snout. She doesn’t look down, intentionally keeping her eyes on Hecate. Her eyes still shine like that of the silver moon hovering above them.

“And if I do not?”

“Then he will not come.” Hecate almost seems sad, wilting before her at the mere thought.

Diana swallows, ignoring a tear as it tickles the corner of her nose. “I still don’t understand.”

“Perhaps you never will,” Hecate says, clasping her hands in front of her. “Your mother begged for you. You begged for purpose.” The black she-dog stands on her feet now, weight so heavy it presses her indestructible boots against her toes as though they are made of cloth. “And he begs for more time. Will you give it?”

Diana already knows her answer.

Hecate approaches her in two long strides, hand delicate against her cheek. Her thumb wipes away her tears, firstly smearing them across her skin before they disappear altogether, leaving behind a trail of warmth. 

“Listen,” she says quietly, touching the curve of her ear. “And see. There are enemies in our family, Diana. You cannot trust everyone who shares our blood.”

Diana places her hand on top of Hecate’s, feeling bone beneath the wisps of shadow. “I will. I hope to see you again.”

Hecate’s lips press together, almost in a pitiful way a mother would regard her child. Thumb sweeping across the apple of her cheek once more, she presses her cool lips against her forehead.

Diana closes her eyes. When Hecate speaks next, it isn’t her soft, whimsical voice she hears. Instead, it’s deeper, more accented to that of America, and one she remembers shouting out to her in a field thick with poisonous cloud. 

“Follow the smoke.”

When Diana opens her eyes again, Hecate and the black she-dog are gone. The torch remains lit in the centre of the crossroads, burning brightly and blindingly in her wake. Turning around, the fire of her own torch dully lights the crossroads enough for her to see a deer staring right at her. Ears twitching, it cocks its head before it runs off down one of the roads. Tendrils of smoke linger behind it.

Diana follows.


	2. oh, i ask you, why not always?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i thought i gave you a watch so you'd be on time._ or the one where steve and diana have more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the incredibly warm reception of this story! you are all magnificent and i can only hope you enjoy where this is going -- which is into greek myth hades. i might be joking.
> 
> i'll preface that a lot of my greek myth content is coming from wiki and a site called theoi, with assumptions made on what these characters can be like. i am trying hard to steer clear of some stereotypes that may seem typical for these greek myths, but please forgive me if i fall into them.
> 
> this chapter was written to wondertrevnet @ tumblr's [love week](https://wondertrevnet.tumblr.com/post/175651939595/wondertrev-love-week-2018-4-11-august), day two prompt _soulmates/soulmark_. this prompt and the first prompt actually inspired my brain to go down this route and descend into this madness, so credit where credit is due to my lovely wondertrevs who voted for these prompts!
> 
> this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thank you for reading! the chapter title is from lykke li's  _i follow rivers_ , which is the song i've been listening to while writing this. (i'd recommend listening to the yolo mix as it's what i've been jamming to!).

The deer never strays from the path. It never slows, nor does it run. Diana can never reach it. Whenever she thinks she’s about to touch the tip of its small tail, it deviates away from her with one long stride. 

She sighs. “You are awfully stubborn,” she says quietly. The deer’s ears twitch in response before it looks over its shoulder at her. Diana shakes her head. “And cheeky.”

The torch continues to burn brightly in her hand. If she looks back, she can see the flame of Hecate’s burn brightly, a beacon within the night. When she glances up at the canopy, she doesn’t see leaves. It’s made of swirls of grey, similar to that of fog encompassing the earth. It comes together to form the shape of leaves and flowers.

The deer skips a few steps, picking up its pace before it settles into its comfortable trot once more. Diana doesn’t know how long she has been walking. It could have been minutes or hours or even days. Her legs refuse to ache; her boots barely leave a dent in the gravel as the small stones move beneath her weight. If she were a giant she’d stomp her feet, but despite how hard she presses her foot against the earth, it doesn’t waver.

Nor do the cracks in the ground disappear. She’d stopped a few trees ago — at least twenty, if the thin, curling trunks are actually trees — and tried to stomp her feet into the ground like she had once done so as a child. Twisting her foot as hard as she could, she thought she had seen the ground begin to shift and heal under her touch. But when she had raised it, she saw the crack, a deep cut through the muscle of the dry earth, remain puckered and black. Filling it with leaves saw them turn to wisps of smoke.

Diana reaches for a branch, feeling the coarse texture of the leaves beneath her fingers. It lasts for only seconds before she crumples it, feeling it fall apart into tendrils of smoke rather than bits of leaf.

“Wherever you are taking me,” she says to the back of the deer as it zigzags along the thin dirt road, “I hope it isn't to the three-headed dog. Cerberus. Artemis always told me horrible stories of him.”

The deer cocks its head to the side, letting out a trill. Diana finds herself laughing softly. “I know. A silly fear.”

But it isn’t as silly as the one she feels press around her chest.

She swats it to the side, as violently as she can. The Lasso of Hestia barely glows in the darkness. Her hip remains as dark as the blanket of night, the stars barely visible through the whorls of smoke above her. Even when she lifts her head now to see if she can observe the stars Chief had told her fables of, she cannot see them.

Gazing up at the canopy of black shadow above her, Diana murmurs, “I’m not in London anymore, am I?”

The deer stomps its hooves into the dirt, the cracks beneath it slightly splintering.

“Well,” she says, looking at the white spots on the brown deer’s coat. “I’m glad you know where you are going.” The deer lets out an unattractive snort.

The road remains even, not dipping once into a ditch or rocky footing. Her feet press against it as though it’s made of cloud, despite the fact that it feels as hard as the armour she bears against her breast. The deer’s hooves barely make a sound, and when they do, it’s like that of a horse’s trot. It’s not a rhythm she has ever associated with Artemis’ familiar. 

Antiope’s stories of the young goddess had always been full of energy. On the shores of the beach, she had chased Diana at the speed of Artemis, with undying enthusiasm that had eventually tired a young Diana out. She had insisted on never resting, informing her niece that Artemis was a woman like that of a bow — strong and taut, and always prepared for flight if she must. It never mattered how tired she happened to be.

Although Diana does not find herself tired, she does wonder if her deer ever will. She wonders if the magic of Hecate will ever tire, succumbing to slumber as the world does within the depths of night.

The deer turns left, guiding her within the cluster of thin, wiry trees. Diana pauses for a moment, glancing around to see the darkness hasn’t lifted. The smoke still forms the pattern of the leaves, and once she extends her hand out toward the trunk, she feels that of the harsh bark. It’s new. In this world of smoke and magic, nothing has been tangible, not even the fur of the black she-dog nor Hecate’s delicate hand.

Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the winding, thin path she’s come from. The torch still shines brightly, as though they haven’t travelled far at all.

Along a thinner and more windy path, Diana follows the deer as it leaps over a fallen tree trunk covered in wisps of moss. The trees begin to spread, no longer hugging one another, and the canopy above her begins to shed its darkness. Light trickles through, throwing blindingly bright streaks across the grass patches.

The deer darts through thick brush, disappearing completely from her sight. The trees stand taller here, building a wall with their thick leaves. Diana reaches out to pull the branches away from blocking her sight, revealing a marble temple shining brightly beneath that of the sun. 

Trees neatly surround the temple, forming a clean circle. The grass glows brighter beneath the sunlight. When she steps through the brush, she doesn’t find herself cut by the thick branches she’d spied webbing the trees and bushes together. It’s as soft as the shadow of Hecate’s hand, spilling away beneath touch as it breaks into whirls of green, warm mist.

Stepping through delicately, Diana finds herself on a small hill. The deer waits for her at the base of its slope, grazing on grass briefly as its ears twitch. Diana descends, ensuring her feet are as light as they can be, before she stops entirely.

As she’s approached, more animals appear. Her deer doesn’t so much as lift its head to acknowledge them. A hawk appears from the centre of the sky, bright as the blue waters of Themyscira. When she looks up, she shades her eyes with the palm of her hand to prevent herself from squinting. The hawk descends into the top branch of a tree, wings furling to its sides as it begins to groom its feathers.

Two bears appear at the door of the temple, one rubbing itself against the white marble pillar before dropping to the ground to roll on its marble floor. A frog lands on her foot, startling her. It’s as heavy as stone, and as still as a statue for only a few moments. Diana doesn’t move, watching it with a smile on her face as it releases a guttural, content sound before leaping away.

Her deer looks up at her, ears twitching as it blinks. Taking it as an invitation, she walks forward, looking down to ensure she doesn't tread on the family of rabbits as they hop in front of her, chasing one another in a game she’s seen in the streets of London.

The deer waits for her, and allows her to stand beside it. Looking up at the marble structure with its high roof and white pillars in wonderment, Diana doesn’t peer down at the deer. “Is that the temple of Artemis?”

The roar of a bear is her reply.

Placing a hand to her chest, she can barely contain the bubble of laughter.

Fingers curl gently around her wrist before they tug on it delicately. “Is it how you pictured it?” says a little girl’s voice. Diana glances down, brows furrowing as she sees a little girl — darker than that of Hecate in her complexion, with bright green eyes and warm, earthy brown hair. Her fingers twine gently around her like vines. “Or did the Queen of the Amazons think to leave me out of her bedtime stories?”

Diana’s brows crease. “Artemis?”

The young girl smiles, bow lips pulling up prettily. Dimples appear in her cheeks, somehow highlighting the dusty freckles on her nose. She wears a harness holding her bow and quiver, glinting brightly beneath the sun.

“Diana of Themyscira,” she greets warmly, lowering herself into a curtsey. It’s obvious to Diana it’s her playing fun, like a child would. “Did you know your mother named you after me?”

She smiles, shaking her head. “I could only believe …”

Artemis wraps her fingers within the spaces of Diana’s. “You must begin,” she says with a decisive nod. “Starting now. Please.”

Looking up at Diana, she grins cheekily. Diana briefly wonders what Antiope would say if she were here — if she’d reflect on Artemis being very much like a younger, wild Princess of the Amazons.

“Come,” Artemis says, and with a gentle tug she leaves Diana no room to reply. “I have something for you.” Artemis reaches out with her other hand to scratch behind the ears of the deer, as affectionately as Hecate had regarded her black she-dog. “Thank you,” she says, before kissing the top of its head. “Wait here. Don’t play!”

She breaks into a skip, forcing Diana to lengthen her strides before she finds herself skipping in turn. The ground is more uneven than the terrain of Hecate’s realm. There’s a grand dip in the earth which Artemis leaps over, and thick, round stones creating a path she insists on hopping over like the children in their chalk-drawn hopscotch games. Diana joins her, following her with ease.

The steps of Artemis’ temple appear to be small and with plenty to spend the day climbing, but as Diana ascends with the goddess, she finds that within three steps she’s standing on the marble floor outside the elegantly carved entrance. She peers up at it with wonderment, noting the intricate carvings of bears and lions together as one, of little girls playing within fairy rings designed out of trees, and deers leaping over thin, rushing rivers.

“It’s beautiful,” Diana says quietly. She peers up at the ceiling and spies the story doesn’t end at the door. It blossoms above her, with more girls playing together, and more animals — deer hiding within the palms of cypress as they watch on in wonder. 

“Come.” Artemis tugs on Diana’s hand, a little less gently this time. She approaches the grand door and only peers up at it to see its mouth split open. All Diana can see inside is bright marble walls, golden floors, and streaks of sunlight that shouldn’t be able to penetrate the high ceiling and thick marble roof of the temple.

Artemis guides her inside, caring little of the animals that slip in and out once the door has opened. A snake slithers by with a rabbit hopping over it.

“You have defeated the warlord, Ares,” she says, her voice sounding like chimes. “And have thus saved my world. My animals mean everything to me. They bring me happiness, and they bring life to where there is darkness.”

Diana peers up at the ceiling, blatantly obvious in her appreciation of the carvings along the walls and the painting on the ceiling depicting Artemis’ world at peace. “Many children enjoy the company of animals. I’ve never had one myself.”

“Pity,” Artemis shakes her head. “But that can change. My doe will guide you and ensure you safe passage. She will be your animal while you are here.”

Diana looks down at Artemis, small smile warm as she sees it reflected in the goddess’ youthful face. “Thank you. I don’t know what I can do to repay you.”

“Being the daughter of Zeus has its trials,” she says solemnly. “You are my namesake, and for that I will always ensure that you never have to repay me, as long as you see my animals are safe. That’s what big and little sisters do, isn’t it?”

Diana’s smile widens. “I suppose so,” she says. “I have never had a sister. Not in the way others do.”

“And I have never had a soulmate,” Artemis sighs dramatically. “Except for my twin.” Diana’s brows furrow, but she’s ignored by the young goddess. “Perhaps we can learn from one another?” She looks up at Diana, her fingers squeezing her hand in hope. “Did Hecate tell you? He is here.” Artemis tugs at her hand, almost jumping with excitement. “In my temple!”

Diana’s heart leaps. 

Before she can speak his name, Artemis breaks out into a run, forcing her to follow her. The distance between the entrance and the steps leading to the altar seemed much shorter when their pace had been more relaxed. Now, it’s longer, like she’s trying to run from one end of the sandy beach to the other on Themyscira. Menalippe had always told her it would be impossible to travel its entire span in one day.

Eventually, Artemis stops, puffing childishly as she grips Diana’s hand. “There is a spring in the centre,” she says, “and my stag will bring him. I cannot go up there with you. I will mind this for you,” she says, taking the torch from Diana’s other hand. “As long as the flame burns, you shall see him.”

Artemis wraps her other hand around the base of the torch and skips toward the entrance of her temple in only a few strides. Diana watches her as she disappears through the doors and sits on the steps of her temple, greeting the animals that flock to her with a warm, girly laugh.

Turning back to face the altar, she steadies herself with a breath. Fingers pressing into the palms of her hand, she feels the Lasso of Hestia hum, although it doesn’t spark into a glow.

Ascending the stairs, Diana spies the spring in the centre of the altar. The floor is made of gold before it bleeds into thick, healthy blades of grass. Her deer drinks from the spring, lapping at the water gently.

Diana startles when she hears the approach of a stag. Its hooves tap against the golden floor, its elegant antlers reflected within it. He approaches the spring from the opposite side of her doe and begins to lap at the water gently. The water moves in a familiar pattern, like that of Themyscira. Diana stares at it, finding herself transfixed by the way it captures the shine of the sun.

A hand curls around her bare elbow. Then, quietly, a familiar hum warms her. “I thought I gave you a watch so you’d be on time.”

She should startle, but Diana’s heart doesn’t leap. Instead, a smile spreads against her lips as hope and grief unfurl within her chest. She closes her eyes to the sight of the doe and stag drinking at the spring. “Your watch never worked,” she says quietly. “It’s waterlogged.”

Steve laughs.

Diana turns to face him. Her hands rise to clutch at his face, fingers pressing against the bones of his cheeks and his lips. She’s gentle at first, then her touch becomes firmer, more desperate to not see him disappear in wisps of smoke. Thumb sweeping across the bridge of his nose, she finds his hands mimic her own — to only wipe at the tears.

“You’re here,” she breathes, smiling.

“Yes,” he says, nodding. His bright blue eyes shine. “I am. Sorry I’m late.”

She shakes her head. “I should be sorry. I should’ve known you were waiting for me.”

“How?” he asks incredulously. His smile never once wavers. “I never sent a telegraph.”

At Diana’s laugh, her tears fall more quickly. Hands slipping from his face, she wraps them around him, under his arms and against his back. Clutching him to her, she rests her chin on his shoulder and kisses his neck.

“Diana,” he gasps. “Can’t breathe —”

She softens her grip, laughing into the fabric of his jacket. The fur remains the same — coarse and smelling of him — and the shoulder is still stained from the beer Charlie had spilled on him years before he had ever descended into the waters of Themyscira.

“That’s better,” he breathes out. His arms are warm and tight around her, but not enough to snap her armour nor her ribs. “I have been waiting so long for you to come find me.”

Diana shakes her head. “It’s you who found me.” Pulling away from him, she lifts her hand to brush at his untamed hair. “Your watch hands began to spin. It’s what led me to the hare that brought me here.”

Steve’s lips curve upward. “Huh,” he says. He’s finding it difficult to believe her. The temptation to press her fingers into the slight crease of his brow is there, and though Diana knows she can do it, she doesn’t. The curious look on his face is one she wishes to remember unmarred. 

With his hands gliding down her arms, he touches the metal of her bracelets. Briefly, she thinks he must be wondering if this is real, too. His voice is warmly amused when he says, “I guess talking to Hades about my Hermes theories really did pay off.”

Her brow arches in amused disbelief. “You spoke to him?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I can be a charming guy.”

Diana laughs, resting her forehead against his collarbone.

“What?” he laughs. His hand drops to hers, fingers fiddling with her own. “You don’t think I could be a charming guy?”

“I have missed you,” she says somberly. Diana bites her lip, wondering briefly if it had been the wrong thing to say. His face doesn’t quite fall, but the bright childishness does dull.

“Yeah,” he says soberly with a nod. “I missed you like you wouldn’t believe. Pretty sure I was going to drive Hades mad.”

She smiles. 

“You look different. A good kind of different.” He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. It’s his turn to card his hand through his hair, although it isn’t to memorise how it falls into his face. It’s to steady himself. Even now, after all this time, she still makes him nervous.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “How’s the world?” His hands move up to her biceps, fingers spreading to capture all of he can of her. “Still thriving?”

With a proud smile, she nods.

“Good,” he beams, smiling. “Always knew you’d take care of it. Knew since the day you called me average.”

Diana ducks her head, blushing. He follows her, trying to catch her gaze. “I’m serious. I knew it then.”

“Steve, stop,” she laughs loudly. Placing her hands on his neck, she threads them up and through his hair. Leaning forward, she moves to press her lips toward his.

An uproar from the front of the temple startles her. Steve’s eyes are half-closed, lips slightly parted, as the stag and doe from the spring skitter. The light fades beneath that of a shadow, the temple descending into temporary darkness.

Before Diana can strike, Steve slips from her hands — snatched viciously away by talons.

The hawk swoops down, wings growing to an incredible size. They engulf Steve, and like that of Hecate’s smoke, the feathers transform into swirls of brown and black and white. He disappears within the wings of the hawk as it ascends to the roof of the temple.

“ _No!_ ”

Artemis screams. 

The hares leap into action. The bears roar mightily, shaking the frame of the temple itself. The doe and the stag break apart, with the stag collapsing to the ground. The doe charges toward Diana, nudging her at the knee.

The hawk swoops up to the corner of the temple, turning on its side as its wings brush against its frame. It shakes, as if punched by a giant.

“I cannot leave!” Diana shouts, throat raw. She looks up at the ceiling, thinking of how far she must leap to tackle the hawk. “I can’t leave him again!”

“Diana!” Artemis screams, voice commanding despite belonging to that of a young girl. Reaching behind her, she pulls forth a bow and an arrow, aiming it expertly toward the hawk. “You must go! _Go!_ ” The doe nudges at Diana, forcing her to walk backwards from the altar.

She refuses to run. Diana looks up at the ceiling in search of the hawk in the darkness, bending her knees, ready to leap toward it. Artemis’ arrow plunges into the ceiling. The painting of the wilderness shatters beneath its tip, splitting the warm, blue sky.

Artemis runs toward her, fingers like hard and unbreakable vines around her wrist. She tugs at her as the roots of a tree would. “You cannot let her find you. Please go!”

The doe snaps at the skirt of her unbreakable armour, its teeth easily sinking into it.

Artemis runs toward the stag, throwing her quiver against the ground and falling to her knees to cradle its head and antlers in her lap. She sobs. “Please! I cannot save you this time.” She beseeches her doe, “Take her to the Trident!”

From her place on the ground, Artemis pulls forth her bow and arrow. Aiming it toward the ceiling, she fires. The arrow plunges into the hawk’s chest, causing it to burst into brown, earthy smoke. The screech shakes the temple from ceiling to floor. 

The light flickers, with the animals roaring as if struck by a spear. Diana runs at the behest of her doe through the entrance and up the valley, through the brush into Hecate’s woods where her torch, thrust into the darkness of the earth, still burns.


	3. be the water where i'm wading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you waste yourself on mortal love, diana of themyscira. those men do not deserve you._ or the one where diana is given a lesson on mortality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back! thank you so much once again for your comments and feedback on this story. c:
> 
> this one was written to wondertrev @ tumblr's love week day 3 prompt, _au_. i think this prompt isn't as subtle as the previous chapter's prompt, and hopefully is enjoyable given the restrictions this story has designed for such prompts!
> 
> as always, this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thank you so much for reading! ♥

Eventually Diana stops running.

The torch barely weighs anything in her hands. Her fingers feel calloused, as though she has been holding it for centuries. The doe trots in front of her before it slips into a slower walk. She notices how it’s breathing a little harder from the exertion of diving out of Artemis’ Temple.

Hecate’s woods remain draped in darkness. The leaves of the trees continue to swirl, as if made up of black mist and magic. Hecate doesn’t appear. Even when Diana thinks the doe is leading her back to the crossroads, the path remains straight or curves dangerously like her lasso in flight.

“We need to go back!” she yells at the doe’s tail. Its ears twitch in response, but it continues to lead her forward — into further darkness, with the trees curving in above them as if to conceal them. “I have to help them!”

The doe trills, shaking its head. Diana huffs. Looking behind her, all she sees is the winding dirt path and identical trees, clustered together to form a united front.

Digging her heels into the ground, Diana crosses her arms petulantly against her chest. The torch leans dangerously close to her hair, but the flame barely licks heat against her cheek. “I will follow you no further,” she declares, head tilted upward in defiance. “We must go back if you want me to come with you.”

The doe sighs. It stops in its tracks and turns around, coming to nudge the heel of Diana’s hand from being trapped against her chest. She allows it.

“I cannot go any further,” she says sadly. She shakes her head, peering down at the doe. Lowering herself, she rests on her knees against the hard dirt, feeling it soften beneath her bare skin. “I can help her. Please take me back.”

The doe takes a step forward to nudge its nose against her cheek. Its trill is low in its throat, and a gentle rejection of Diana’s offer. Its teeth nip at the wristband of Steve's watch before cocking its head in the direction of where it has been leading her.

Diana sighs. “My mother once told me man did not deserve me," she says, reaching out to scratch beneath the doe’s chin. It tilts its head up, closing its eyes as it hums contentedly. “I am beginning to think this world doesn't deserve you.”

With one last, hard scratch beneath the doe’s chin, Diana stands taller than she had held herself before. Nodding straight ahead, she steels her shoulders back and looks down at the doe. “As long as we do not do nothing, I will follow you.”

The doe taps its hooves against the ground before turning around and leading her, quicker this time, almost at a skip, along the dirt road.

Diana isn’t certain how much time passes. The torch barely wilts in its flame, carrying it as though it has been mere seconds since she had met Hecate on the crossroads. But the air around her changes. The coolness of Hecate’s woods begins to slip from her grasp, much like that of a shawl, and is replaced by a warmer touch, like that of the sun kissing her skin.

The doe leads her along a path that begins to transform into rough sand, the dirt disappearing beneath its mounds. It’s as though children have been here, building their sandcastles and abandoning them before shaping them to completion. Her boots begin to sink into the sand, slowing her down as the doe glides across it.

Sticking the torch in the sand, Diana removes her boots and carries them in one hand, the torch in the other. The rough sand gives way to a softer sand, like that of the doe’s fur. The trees begin to break apart until there are no trees at all, and before her is the loud slaps of the ocean as the waves lap at the shore.

She almost lifts her hand to shield her eyes against the brightness of the sun. The sky is blue, with the water even more so; the sun glows upon the water, blinding her when she peers upon it. The length of the ocean is from one end of the world to the other, with it extending beyond even her own sight as it melts into the skyline.

If it wasn’t for the air — humming with the magic of this special ocean — she would think herself back on the shores of Themyscira.

The doe easily walks along the sand, not once slipping against it as she does, even with her bare feet. It leads her to a pier made of the lightest wood. When she ascends the few stairs, she notices how every plank is even, with the same patterns marring the wood.

The water laps at the sides of the thin pier as it reaches out, like an arm, into what she feels must be the middle of the ocean. At the end of the dock is a silhouette of muscle and long hair, picked up and braided messily by the wind.

Once she’s closer, she hears a sigh — a tired, almost annoyed one. He returns his pint against the wooden table he lounges at, arm thrown over his wooden chair carelessly. It’s set for four, although only one sits.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t come.” The voice is rough and abrasive, like that of the water hitting the stones beneath her feet. Spittle licks at her skin, sliding down her legs and tickling the spaces between her toes.

Diana places her shoes on the floor by the picnic table before resting her torch against the side of the pier. She eyes it carefully to see whether the wood catches flame. It does not.

The doe welcomes herself to the seat on his left. The man eyes the doe with an incredulous arch to his brow, but makes no move to shove it off.

He looks at Diana with mismatched eyes, one a bright sea green and the other the reflection of the ocean’s flawless blue. They stand out attractively against his tanned skin. Beneath his thick beard, she observes a mirthless smile. “She sent you, didn’t she?”

“If you mean Artemis,” Diana says, feeling the need to tilt her chin up in defiance, “then yes. She has.”

He almost rolls his head over the back of his wooden chair. She notes how his neck arches to glisten in the sun, causing his tanned skin to appear like its a reflection of the bright water below them.

“Diana of Themyscira,” he says, voice rumbling. She feels it vibrate through the waves. He eyes her, arm thrown casually over his chair as he twists his body within it. It’s then she notices how his skin isn’t dry, but wet. “Hippolyta’s daughter. Glad you got her looks.”

Diana approaches the table without invitation, and pulls out a chair with much the same respect. She sits, finding herself relieved to be off her feet. When she looks at him, she notes how his hair is as wet as his skin, but his clothing — a well-worn denim jacket and ripped jeans with a plain shirt — are dry despite him dripping.

“You are Poseidon,” she surmises. “This is the Trident.”

“Smart,” he says approvingly. “Smarts are definitely your mother, too.”

If it's bait, Diana refuses to take it off the hook. Instead, she leans forward on the table, arms folding against the soft wood. “Why would Artemis send me to you?”

He chuckles, low in his throat, not taking offense to the way she pointedly looks at him. Poseidon shrugs his muscular shoulders with a carelessness she would never associate with such a God. “Beats me.” The waves crash at the pier, spraying his back as though a bucket of water has been dumped upon him. Diana wipes at the bridge of her nose and across her forehead to capture the droplets. “I can't help you.”

The doe trills, unfolding itself from where it sits at the table. It leaves the table to stand in the centre of the pier before it shakes itself dry.

Poseidon chuckles deeply, the waves smacking against the legs of the pier in time with it. “Ha. They never like the seawater.”

Diana glances over her shoulder at the doe, who remains dry despite the lapping of the waves. Eventually, the sea dies down into a relaxed lull.

“If you tell me where to go, I can leave you be.” Diana leans back in her chair, finding it hugs her like the sand had her toes. “I can tell you don’t want me here.”

“On the contrary,” Poseidon smiles. He leans forward, elbows resting hard against the table. The bridge of his nose is red from sunburn. “I’ve always liked the company of a beautiful woman.”

“Who is not interested,” she says firmly. “My mother may not have told me of my true heritage, but she told me the stories. So did my aunt.”

“Antiope,” he says with warmth. Looking off to the side, the water breaks in the distance to reveal a dolphin surfacing to flip onto its back to submerge itself once more. “If only I was as lucky as my brother.”

Diana presses her lips together. 

Poseidon leans back in his chair, folding his arms as he purses his lips. “You waste yourself on mortal love, Diana of Themyscira.” He sighs, as though she has troubled him greatly with her request. Diana waits with her hands in her lap, studying him as he studies her. “Those men do not deserve you.”

Once, she’d felt pride and sadness swell within her. Now, she feels an indignation to prove him wrong. She arches her brow. “And you do?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been told I don’t deserve a lot of things.”

“And what do you think?”

Poseidon looks straight at her, mismatched eyes as mesmerising as the ocean itself. She can see why many women of myth and mortality would have fallen for his charm. She can see why Antiope would never spare him a first glance.

“I know why you’re here,” he says soberly. Sitting properly in his chair, he regards her with a level of respect she finds to be odd for his flippant character. “Do you really think it’s worth it? You could have a love that is like that of the ocean — endless, consuming, _immortal_.”

“I am not here to have an immortal love,” she says gently. “I am here for a mortal love, like the stories my mother had told me of Helen of Troy.”

Poseidon shakes his head, the scales on his neck glittering dully in the sunlight. “In reality, it ends badly.”

“In one reality.” Diana looks down at the wooden table before her, noticing a marring in the wood. “This is another reality, isn’t it?”

“You could say,” Poseidon offers. Licking his lips, she notes how he still remains wet. It isn't as though he’s sweating profusely. His skin has a shine to it the mortal men and women apply powders and glitter to obtain. “I’m supposed to encourage you onwards,” he says, “like we’re supposed to encourage every hero. But you’re different. And I’m not going to let you drown like I’ve let so many others.”

Diana studies the way he looks down at the table and refuses to look her in the eye. Even the ocean wishes to withdraw from the comfortable sandy banks it has suffocated with its outstretched arms. Although she feels tempted to press as to _why_ , she has learned to never look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I loved a woman once,” he says, voice purposefully gruff. “And I did anything I could to keep her.” He lifts his head, looking at her. “We are kept apart by oceans.”

“You’re the God of the Sea,” Diana says gently. “How can the ocean keep you apart?”

“Sometimes what makes you can break you,” he says. “My oceans are more than half of the worlds you will find yourself in, Diana. It’s my ocean that kept Themyscira safe from harm until it was time for it to be found.”

Diana frowns. “You lowered the field?”

He shakes his head. “Others did that.” Shifting in his chair, he rests his wet palms on the table. When he moves them, they leave no stain of water behind. “I kept them from finding you. Threw in some waves here, a little rocky shore there. It's not hard to create a labyrinth where not even a piece of red string can guide you out.”

Diana narrows her eyes, slowly asking, “Is the reason you help me because of who I am to you?”

Again, he shakes his head. “I need to show you something.”

Poseidon pushes himself up from his chair noisily. Diana hesitates, glancing at the doe who peers at her, ears twitching. 

She rises, stepping towards the torch and her boots. Poseidon’s arm stretches out to stop her. “Leave it,” he says softly. “The doe will make sure it’s still here and burning when you come back.”

When Poseidon walks, drops of water fall to the wooden planks. She walks beside him, easily matching each of his long strides. He almost glides along the wood and the sand, despite his feet sinking into the grains, resulting in him kicking clumps from his toes.

He guides her towards the rockier portion of the beach. The waves lap at the shore, breaking against the rocks as though they wish to encourage them onwards. Poseidon walks along the wetter part of the sand, kicking up seaweed like she’s witnessed mortal children do so at the beach.

Once they arrive at the rocks, she notes how an uneven path has been forged within them, almost like a staircase. The rock pools are shallow, with the water reflecting the sun and blue sky above it like the ocean. The waves lap at the rock, crashing against it to spit water everywhere. They gradually subside until the ocean is calm and still.

Poseidon walks along it as though it is made of sand, rather than the slippery smooth surface she almost trips on. He steps in each rock pool, sending crabs and small fish scattering. He stands before a shallower one, larger in size than the other pools, remaining at its border.

“I looked in this pool once,” he says, not looking at her. She studies the slope of his crooked nose and how it shines beneath the sun. “I’m helping you not because you are my brother’s daughter. I’ve chosen to help you because you become my son’s greatest ally.”

Diana tilts her head, brows furrowing. “I don’t understand.”

Poseidon looks out at the ocean, at the stillness of the waves. “I’m not a prophet, but I’m as curious as any mortal and immortal man. I had asked for a message from the Fates, and they had woven together for me a vision.”

He pulls a shell out from the pocket of his denim jacket. It’s an imperfect, small shell, tinged as pink as the tip of his nose. He holds it in the palm of his hand. “If you put a shell to your ear, you can hear the ocean wherever you are. It’s been quiet for some time.” He holds it out for her to take. Delicately, she removes it from his hand, hesitantly placing it gently against her ear. “It got louder the moment you saw that hare.”

Diana can hear the roaring of the ocean and feel the spittle of the waves as it crashes against the shore. When she looks out at the ocean before her, it remains calm, dormant beneath Poseidon’s mood.

“I know of Steve Trevor,” he says, studying her. Diana closes her eyes and listens to the waves as they slowly begin to calm. “And you will now know of Atlanna.”

The ocean within the shell calms, reflecting that of the waters before her. Diana reluctantly pulls the shell from her ear and holds it out for Poseidon to reclaim. His thick fingers take it gently between them, before he deposits it back into his ripped denim jacket.

He bends down and scoops a piece of dry coral from the wet rocks they stand upon. Throwing his arm back, he launches the coral into the air. It doesn’t reach the ocean. Diana watches as it hits a point in the sky, shattering a rainbow into arcing across it. She shields her eyes against the bright colours as the rainbow expands. Streaks of colour shoot toward her, landing in the middle of the shallow rock pool they stand before.

A woman stands before them, shielded by the blinding bright light. It only intensifies as it reflects off the golden dress she wears. Once the woman stands in front of the rainbow, Diana lowers her hand from shielding her eyes. The woman before her is beautiful, with golden, flowing hair, a thin nose, and long fingers with nails painted gold.

In her hands is a golden rod with wings sprouting from the top. Instantly Diana recognises her. Iris seems to smile at the widening of her eyes.

Poseidon looks at Diana. “Curious?”

Diana looks at him, unsure of what her answer should be.

“I have a message from the Goddess of the Sky,” Iris says, voice like bells. Her golden eyes shine brightly, making her even more beautiful. 

“I will accept it,” Diana says with a decisive nod. “What does Hera want to tell me?”

With a wave of her hand, Iris invites her to step into the shallow waters of the rock pool.

Glancing uncertainly at Poseidon, Diana slowly enters the water. It’s cold at first, wrapping around her toes like that of seaweed, before it warms like she would expect water sitting beneath the sun to feel. Iris stands before her, gown soaked as she stands in the centre. 

A golden water pitcher appears in her hand.

“If you drink the water, you will see it.” Iris holds it out for her to take. “Nothing will harm you. It is only a message.” Diana’s fingers wrap around it hesitantly, finding the pitcher is as light as a feather. The Lasso of Hestia remains muted at her hip. 

Diana braces herself before she lifts the pitcher to her lips. The water is cold as it hits the back of her throat, refreshing as though she’s parched, and delicious as though it’s wine. She closes her eyes, feeling the water cool her body. 

When she opens them again, she is in the little village of Veld.

“Hey,” she hears, and turns to find Steve standing beside her. Snowflakes sit in his hair and the collar of his furred jacket. His smile threatens to melt them. “Look,” he says, pointing and tilting his head upward. “It’s snowing.”

Whens he looks up at the sky, it’s a dark blanket stitched with white baubles of stars. The village of Veld remains perfect; the broken buildings and the despair that had been rich and thick in the air has melted away. She looks around, seeing and now hearing children as they run and laugh through the falling snow, with mothers chasing after them with glee. Where it had been covered in darkness and blood, it’s now brightly lit by the mounds of snow on the roofs and the ground.

Charlie’s music accompanies the brightening of the lights around her, shining upon the town as though it is beneath the sun itself. The coolness of the snow barely pinks her cheeks. She finds them heated by the warmth of the town, the unbroken structures, and the sounds of Charlie’s questionable singing.

One of Steve’s hands slips through her own, with the other sliding around her waist. He pulls her closer, turning her on the spot as he sways. It takes only moments for her to realise he’s dancing.

She looks at him and smiles, blushing beneath the heat of his gaze. “You did it,” he says softly. “You saved the world.”

Her brow threatens to furrow and pull the corner of her lips downward. “ _We_ did.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I was only there for moral support.”

She laughs softly, ducking her head. “You saved today,” she says. “We will save tomorrow.”

She notes the furrow to his brow and the sparkle in his eye. “I'm glad we have time,” he says. Stepping away from her, he spins her. Diana laughs loudly, stepping into him once she's fully turned. “I’m glad we did something.”

“I’m glad that you are here,” she says softly. “That you didn't do anything stupid.”

“ _Too_ stupid,” he corrects. She laughs at the pointed look he wears, and the curve of his lips as he pokes fun at himself. His hand moves to her lower back before he dips her and holds her there. She looks up at the snow, smiling before she pokes her tongue out to try and catch some of the flakes.

Steve laughs, pulling her upright and closer to him. Diana rests her hand on his shoulder, allowing her fingers to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I was thinking of trying to find a copy of Clio’s tomes,” Diana says, ensuring her face is as serious as possible.

His blue eyes almost pop out of his head. “Clio’s books ….”

“The bodily pleasures,” she says, nodding. He doesn’t need any reminding, despite her acting as though he does. “You should have a copy here.”

“I don’t …” His neck reddens. “I don’t know if they have those kinds of books here, Diana.”

Pressing her lips together, Diana bursts out laughing. Her fingers slip from his neck to touch his cheeks and then back at his neck. “You are so red!”

“Oh, come on,” Steve shakes his head, pulling his hand away from her back to wipe at his cheeks. They remain tinged with red, even when he does his best to pull snowflakes from her hair onto them. His hand returns to her lower back. “That’s not fair.”

“Your face was worth it.”

Steve pulls back and spins her, as though that will distract her from the reason for her laughter. She only grows louder, attracting Sameer and Charlie from the pub.

“Oi!” Charlie shouts out good-naturedly. “You’re ruining my singin’ with your mindless laughter!”

“Maybe we should join them,” Sameer says loudly. He wears a cheeky smile as he regards Charlie, who spends a few moments frowning at him before he catches onto the ploy. “The more the merrier. We can find out what they’re laughing at and give these poor people a break from your singing.”

“Hey!”

Sameer bends down and cups snow in his gloved hands, forming it into a ball. Wasting little time, he throws it at Steve, hitting him on his arm. Diana shrieks with laughter as Steve startles, breaking out of their embrace and accidentally stepping on her foot.

Before he can even reply, Diana’s reached down to scoop snow within her bare hands. Compacting it into an imperfect ball, she drops it on Steve’s head.

“Seriously?” he laughs. He looks between the three of them, lips curved into a smile despite his exasperation. “I’m warning you. You’re going to lose at this war.”

Charlie throws a snowball at Steve, hitting him squarely in the back of the head.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Snow flies everywhere, firstly at Steve. Then the targets become anyone who happens to be moving. Diana gets a clump of it down Sameer’s jacket, while Charlie manages to throw one straight at her back. Diana’s ammunition is thrown at random, barely hitting their mark unless they’re Steve Trevor.

She doesn’t know how long they remain out there. The snow falls harder, piling up against the sides of the buildings. Her feet slow as they sink into the soft mush of their new ground. When Diana bends down to collapse snow between her hands, she looks up to see them gone. The sound of their laughter and curses disappears, sucked immediately from the village. The buildings are dilapidated, and there’s dirt in her hands.

The round ball of snow is heavier in her hands. Looking down, it glows gold, with a stem in the centre at its top. She hears a throaty roar burn behind her.

Emerging from the shallow rock pool dry, Diana pulls herself to rest against the wet slabs of rock by Poseidon and Iris’ feet. Her hand feels heavy. When she looks at her palm, she finds herself holding a golden apple.


	4. i'm the daughter waiting for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i would never let you wander this world alone, diana. even in the afterlife, i have always sworn to protect you._ or the one where diana is saved by an unbreakable love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is written to wondertrev's love week day 4 prompt, hurt/comfort. all i really have to say for myself is that this instalment has really thrown my outline for a loop. c:
> 
> this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thank you so much for reading! ♥

The ocean is eerily still. The air around them feels thick and impenetrable, making it difficult to breathe.

Poseidon stares at the golden apple Diana holds in her hand with a fearsome look. A part of her fears the water will lash out and snatch her out to the ocean to suffocate her within its depths. Iris appears indifferent, her expression a glow amongst the darkening and stagnant beach.

“No.” It comes out as a firm rumble. The ocean reverberates after it, the ground beneath them shaking slightly as though they stand upon a volcano. 

Poseidon walks backward into the rock pools, sending crabs and fish leaping frantically out of his way. He doesn’t spare a glance over his shoulder, naturally knowing where to place his feet. 

Holding his hands up, he shakes his head. “I’m out. You’re on your own.”

Diana frowns. The wind lashes at her hair, whipping it across her face. “Poseidon!”

“I was never interested in playing these games,” he says. The ocean roars around them, but his voice remains low and sharp. It’s as though the wind and the spray carries it on its particles. “And I’m _definitely_ not interested in this one.”

At the edge of the rock pool, where the waves crash angrily against the jagged outline, he stands and removes his jacket. Tossing it to the rock pools where the crabs congregate around it, he pulls his dark shirt from his chest and whips it across the pools. Again, crabs of all shapes and sizes appear at once, throwing the garment on top of themselves and carrying it into their pools. His chest glitters silver, scales apparent amongst the black markings of his body.

Poseidon doesn't turn to face the ocean. Leaping backward, he flips and disappears into the waves, the water lapping and creating a vortex around him before it crashes angrily against the rocks.

Diana wipes at her face, the water dripping from her forehead as though she stands beneath the spray of a waterfall. The desire to chase after him and leap into the waters of his territory blossoms angrily in her chest. Her feet almost move to take stride. Antiope had taught her some battles were not meant to be fought, even if her entire body was begging for it. 

Staring in disbelief at the ocean, she shakes her head and asks Iris, “Is he always so unhelpful?” 

“He is as mature as the ocean,” Iris offers.

Diana turns to her, brow slightly arched. “So, not mature at all.”

Iris gives her no affirmation or declination. Diana does think she appears amused, but the glow of her lips and the shine off her winged rod makes it difficult to discern if it's true.

Suddenly, the water erupts as a whale emerges a slight distance away, leaping so far into the air she almost sees its tail, before splashing back and submerging once more. Diana can’t help but smile; a part of her feels as though she's been flipped off.

The water stills to a terrifying degree, appearing like glass as the sun and the sky remain bright and warm. A chill in the air reminds her her feet are bare. 

Diana sighs, peering at the heavy apple in her hand. “I will have to return this,” she says. Looking up at Iris, she searches for a message in her features. Does she move forward and return the golden apple? Or does she keep it and lie in wait? 

Iris's expression remains unreadable.

Peering out at the ocean once more in hopes of seeing Poseidon change his mind, there is nothing but the waters of Themyscira: warm, beautiful, and never-ending. She wishes to dive into it now and search all of its corners, to only emerge and find herself at home.

A wet nose nudges the back of her knee. Looking down, Diana finds the doe by her side. Reaching down to scratch at her ears, she hums, “We have something to do.” The doe’s ears twitch at the sight of the golden apple. “Do you think it's a good idea we return this?” The doe nudges at her leg, but in a manner unlike that at Artemis’ Temple: it’s as though it wishes to hide behind her skirt.

The doe makes a sound in the back of its throat, loud enough to almost belong to that of a lion. It draws Diana’s attention away from the golden apple and to the shore by the rocks, where a herd of animals, of all shapes and sizes, are carrying her torch and her boots. Crabs walk quickly, snapping their claws as they guide two turtles with large, ugly-green shells across the sand. The torch lies horizontal against their shells, still burning, and never quite catching anyone aflame. Two seagulls carry her boots in their beaks, following the progression of crabs and turtles toward the rock pools. 

Stopping once they reach the end of the sand, they work together to deposit her torch and boots against the rocks.

She turns to Iris, chin held high. “Where do I go now?”

Iris seems pleased by this, for she glows a touch brighter. Pointing her winged staff behind her, Diana sees the end of a rainbow, darker in its shades but still as beautifully bright as the one Iris had entered within, seeping into the woods by the beach’s edge. This woods is brighter than that of Hecate’s.

“To the Orchard,” Iris says, voice ringing like bells. “You will be travelling west.”

Diana wonders if she can pry the reason for her invitation to the garden from Iris’ lips, but upon studying the goddess, she decides not to pursue it. She’s merely a messenger. From Menalippe’s tales, Iris, while as beautiful as the rainbow and a servant of the clouds above them, was still a goddess of her own wit. Menalippe had never favoured the sea nor the storms.

“Thank you,” she says instead. Iris bows her head, but doesn’t disappear as Diana had expected. 

Leaving the rock pool, she takes a moment of pleasure to dig her toes into the soft sand, closing her eyes and believing herself to be in Themyscira once more. But the deliberate quietness of the beach makes it difficult to submerge beneath those lost waters, and so she opens her eyes and pulls on her boots with the help of her animal companions.

Wiping wetness from behind her neck, she carries the torch with the doe by her side. “I do hope to see you again.”

Iris clasps her hands together over the wings of her staff. “You will,” she says. “Whenever you peer up at the sky and see a rainbow, you will see me again.”

Diana smiles. She doesn't watch Iris disappear, if she disappears at all. Starting on her trek from the rock pools to the woods, she wades through the sand with some difficulty, given the weight of her boots. Some of the crabs follow her, pushing at her heels as though they possess the strength of Heracules and the might of Archilles. Diana laughs and does her best not to tread on them.

Eventually, she loses her crabs to the sand and their makeshift homes, the turtles to the notion of sitting in the cool rock pools, and the seagulls landing on the wooden makeshift fence dividing beach from woods. Only the doe remains beside her.

When she enters the woods, she notes how there is no dirt path to follow. The ground is littered with leaves and twigs, fallen trunks with moss gluing them to their stumps and the earth. Where her doe leaps over these fallen trees with ease, she pulls her legs up and over them, slowing them down momentarily as the doe begins to lead her once more.

“I do hope you know where you’re going,” Diana says to the doe’s head. It walks beside her this time, rather than leading with a greater distance between them. A part of her wonders if her companion is scared, too. 

The doe sniffs and sneezes, but doesn’t make any sound of alarm as they venture through the thick, green woods. 

For some time, the only sound that accompanies them is the doe’s snorts and trills, the snapping of twigs beneath both their heels, and the crunch of leaves. These woods lack the warm hum of magic Hecate’s had been intertwined with. When she looks up at the canopy ahead, the sun filters through the thin cover, with shadows flying above it every so often.

The doe turns her head at the sound of a _hoot_ in the distance. Diana frowns, placing her fingers delicately along the spine of the doe to comfort it. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “It’s only an owl.”

The _hoot_ accompanies them at an odd rhythm.

The woods begin to thin, with the lush green eventually bleeding into a duller, more yellow tone. When she pulls apart the leaves of a low hanging tree, she sees a wooden fence, about waist high, outlining a large garden filled with trees of vibrant yellows and oranges.

Her doe stops at the fence, nostrils flaring as it stomps its hooves against the dirt. Diana stands beside it, hand resting against its neck in what she hopes to be comforting. Peering at the garden before her, she can spy the shine of baubles hanging on the trees, and hills sprawling for miles.

Lowering herself to the ground, she embraces the doe’s face gently with her free hand. The doe looks at her with its wide eyes and calms at her touch. 

“You do not have to come with me,” she says gently. The doe huffs, tapping its hooves twice against the ground. “You can stay. Artemis will know you completed your task.”

The doe’s reply is a stubborn refusal, acknowledged even with a shake of its head. Diana can’t help but laugh.

“Okay,” she nods, scratching under its chin. “Thank you.”

As if to prove it isn’t afraid, it takes her golden apple from her hand between its teeth before it lowers itself to the ground and crawls beneath the first wooden plank of the makeshift fence. It stands on the other side, looking straight at her. Diana climbs over the fence with her torch in hand, taking the golden apple from the doe.

They walk through the Orchard with ease, the grass slightly dry beneath their feet. The doe doesn’t opt to graze when it lowers its head to the ground to sniff the blades. Diana looks from the left and the right, even behind her to see the woods they’d entered from still lingering behind her.

Climbing up a small hill leads them to a cobblestone path. The doe presses its hoof against it firmly before it allows Diana to step on it. Designed in a slight winding path, they carry on, passing low hanging trees holding red apples in their palms and berries in their leaves, planted with a purposeful distance between them. Bushes with beautifully bright flowers outline most of the garden, sectioning some of it off into a labyrinth.

Diana and the doe keep on the cobblestone path until they reach its end at the centre of the garden. The hedges are higher, impeccably trimmed from top to bottom. From the mouth of the hedge maze is more hedges with various flowers and berries perched on them.

Glancing down at the doe, she exhales before she leads them inside. It isn’t as difficult as she had thought to navigate the maze, firstly taking a left then a right, and only reaching a dead end once. Eventually they find what Diana thinks to be the centre, for a tree so tall it almost reaches the heavens sits before them, roots thick and sprawling through the grass.

Close to one hundred identical golden apples hang from various branches of the tree. Curled upon its lowest branch is a golden creature of scales. It doesn’t glow as brightly as Poseidon had under the sun. He had reflected the sky as though he was the water itself. This creature appears to absorb the warmth, glowing brighter.

“Let’s return what isn’t ours.” Diana peers down at the doe, gesturing for it to retreat. “Wait by the mouth of the maze for me.” The doe makes to rebuttal, and earns itself a pointed look. “Go, please.”

Reluctantly, the doe retraces its steps and lingers by the mouth of the maze, hiding behind the edge of the bushes. 

Glancing down, she notes how the Lasso of Hestia remains dull against her hip. With a look over her shoulder, she notes the doe stays where she has requested it be. Now, all she must do is return the apple.

Peering at the tree, she notes that there are no baskets to place it within. She looks up from her place several footsteps from its underbelly to see if there is a stem for it to be latched back onto. The branches are too far for her to see.

Placing the torch against the ground, flame brushing against the blades as though it’s the breath of this creature, Diana takes a step. One of the dragon’s eyes open.

She stops.

Raising the golden apple, she says slowly and firmly, “I’m here to return this. I received it in a message from Iris.”

If the dragon understands her, it doesn’t so much as blink. She raises the apple higher, in case it can’t see it. It stares at her unblinkingly.

Diana takes a tentative step forward.

Its tail brushes against the ground. One slow sweep. Two faster sweeps. It’s then Diana realises how big it is — with its head resting in the groove of the tree, the back end of its body lays against the ground. Smoke puffs from his nose in thick clouds, tendrils slipping from the part of its lips.

Its silver eye moves to the golden apple, glistening in the sun. 

The sudden movement of the dragon shakes the earth, almost causing Diana to lose her balance. It’s up in the air, wings flapping powerfully to whip her hair into her face. Unfurling from its body are necks, from three to a dozen to possibly a hundred.

Disappointment flairs within her, overpowered by the familiar, addictive hum of adrenaline. Hand hovering over the lasso that begins to spark to life, Diana shakes her head. “I was hoping this would be easy.”

The moment she wraps her fingers around the coarseness of the lasso, the dragon lashes its thick, powerful tail at her.

Leaping out of the way, Diana skids against the grass. Easily jumping to her feet, she’s quick to throw the lasso into the air, wrapping it around a high branch of the tall tree to swing herself out of its way as fire blazes past her.

Landing on her feet on the opposite side of the tree, she unwraps the lasso with a quick tug and loops it within her hands. Raising her arm above her head, her bracelet burns softly with the dragon’s flame as it diverts around her. The tips of the grass blades singe, but the garden around them doesn’t catch alight.

Spotting her fallen apple, Diana unleashes the lasso in an attempt to capture it. Before she can, the dragon’s talons are sweeping at it, tossing it easily to the side. With the power of its lashing, Diana falls to the ground. She rises to her feet quickly, undeterred.

Diana runs toward the other side of the tree, the dragon’s heads following her almost like that of a snake. Before she can catch her breath and snatch her apple from the ground, fire shoots her way. She leaps away from it toward its tree. Before she can climb it, half the heads turn to face her once more, belly filling with air before it exhales.

Crossing her arms above her head, she’s thrown back by the sheer force of the power of her bracelets and the impact of the hot fire. The dragon’s on its back, heads peering up at her as it struggles momentarily to right itself.

When it opens its mouth to inhale air once more, Diana braces herself with her arms crossed above her head, the lasso burning brightly against her thigh where it’s fallen. She closes her eyes, preparing for the impact.

The flame doesn’t come. 

A guttural, vibrating roar shakes the garden, threatening to topple the golden apples.

“ _Diana!_ ”

Diana pushes herself up, still on the ground where she’s fallen. Arms covering her sight, she spies familiar armour. A sword slashes at one of the heads, the dragon screaming hard enough for the ground to shake once more.

The sword plunges into the belly of the dragon, then into one of its thick feet. The dragon doesn’t move its foot. It can’t. Paralysed with the sword keeping it at bay, the dragons struggles to free itself, heads snapping at the hilt and tail slashing violently against the tree and ground.

A hand grips her heart and squeezes too tightly when she sees her face.

“Antiope?” she whispers in disbelief.

“Diana!” Her aunt runs toward her, kneeling on the ground as she takes her face gently between her hands. “My Diana,” she smiles. Her hands are firmer, familiar against her cheeks. Her thumbs wipe away wetness from her face.

“Is it really you?” Diana grips her shoulders harder, pulling at the familiar armour she sheathes herself in.

Antiope pulls her into a fierce hug. The dragon continues to wail in the background, bleeding golden tinged blood upon the ground. Antiope glances toward the dragon before she turns to Diana, her expression almost satisfied. She pulls Diana to her feet. “We will not be defeating Ladon today,” she says. Diana frowns. “Don’t look at me like that, Diana. We must pick our battles. This is not it.”

“What do you —” Diana peers past Antiope’s shoulder and pushes her out of the way. Her aunt falls to the ground as Diana lifts her arm, twisting her body to the side as she feels her skin harden painfully. 

Falling to the ground with a cry, she cradles her burning arm to her chest.

Antiope turns toward her, shouting, “Cover your eyes!” Diana feels the Lasso of Hestia slip from her, wrapped fiercely around the hands of her aunt. 

Advancing toward the woman with serpents for hair with her arm covering her eyes, Antiope releases a shriek. It isn’t the same sound Diana had released. Raising her arms, her bracelets reflect the woman’s face back at her, turning half her snakes into stone.

She throws her arm back, propelling the lasso toward Medusa with a fierce throw. It wraps around her face, shielding her eyes. Diana looks up to see the golden glow begin to turn to stone, the shine of it fighting it off. The stone exterior cracks, as if being crushed between the fingers of a god.

Medusa’s hold on it dissipates quickly with the stone falling to her feet. 

The sky above them suddenly bleeds into an angry, dark grey. Thunder strikes against the clouds before lightning crackles hotly and loudly across the sky. Medusa doesn’t have time to peer up at it as she’s struck by a bolt, disappearing as quickly as the hawk had in Artemis’ temple. 

One of Ladon’s heads is struck by a bolt, pulling a noise Diana has never heard from its many throats.

Antiope’s beside Diana, hugging her to her chest as she peers up at the sky. “It takes too much for him to act,” she murmurs as the sky crackles with another bolt of lightning. Turning to her quickly, she wraps her hands delicately around Diana’s hurt arm. “Raise your arms,” she says hurriedly. “Quickly, Diana. I know it hurts. You must.” 

Helping her pull her right arm up, Diana crosses them painfully across her head. A bolt of lighting hits her bracelets, shooting directly toward Ladon. The dragon falls to the floor, all of its necks still. From her vantage point, Diana can’t tell if its chest moves in time with its breathing — if it’s breathing at all.

Above them, the sky immediately melts into a bright, vibrant blue, without a cloud marring the sky. Antiope peers up at it and mouths “Thank you” before turning back to Diana.

“Antiope …” Diana raises her good arm around her aunt, pulling her to her. “How are you here?”

“I would never let you wander this world alone, Diana,” Antiope says into her hair. Kissing the top of her head, she cradles her to her. “Even in the afterlife, I have always sworn to protect you.”

Diana pulls away from her aunt, keeping her hand on top of her own. She intertwines her fingers with Antiope’s tightly, afraid of losing her all over again. 

They both look at her arm covered in stone. “Why has this happened?” she asks quietly. She sounds like the little girl who had bruised her knees momentarily in training, scared of losing her opportunity to become like her aunt — like her mother.

Her arm doesn’t heal like the cut had, so many years ago.

Antiope’s hands are now soft and careful against her arm. There’s an uncertainty to her touch. “Medusa is not working alone,” she surmises. “She bears no ill will toward you, Diana. It’s that of another she carries.”

Diana tries to steady her racing heart with a deep breath, but the fear keeps it beating too quickly for her to count the heartbeats. 

Suddenly, Antiope looks around. “Where is Artemis?”

Frowning, Diana shakes her head. “She is not here.”

Antiope ignores her, glancing around. She makes to stand from where she lingers beside Diana, but remains where she is. It’s then that she spies what she’s looking for — the doe by the entrance. With a quick whistle, the doe appears, nudging against Diana’s head. She leans into it, calmed by its presence.

“It’s now your turn to do as you promised,” Antiope says to the doe. The doe glances at her before it nudges its nose against Diana’s arm. The pain flares like fire against her skin, searing into her muscles. Antiope grips her hand, and quietly commends, “Be still, Diana.”

And so she tries, gripping Antiope’s hand with all the strength within her. The doe begins to lick at her arm, the stone firstly not budging beneath its tongue. Then it begins to peel away, as though it’s merely paint. With it, the pain begins to ebb.

Once the stone is licked from her arm, Antiope inspects it with a gentle sweep of her fingers. The skin appears untarnished, as though it hadn’t been grasped by the power of Medusa’s own curse. Diana doesn’t give into the desire to trace her fingers against it.

She studies her aunt, seeing the lines of wisdom pretty her face. “You know why I’m here.”

Antiope nods. “Of course,” she says. “I know you, Diana. Better than you knew yourself.”

Despite wanting to leap to her feet, Diana remains on the ground. The doe nudges her arm with its nose. “I must find him.”

“He will find you,” Antiope says. At the crease of Diana’s brow, she raises her hand to smoothen it, as she always has. “He is bringing us something that only he can fly.”

Diana frowns. “Fly?”

Antiope smiles secretively. 

Standing, she extends her hand for Diana to take. Fingers intertwined once more, she lets her aunt pull her to her feet, as she used to when she was a child. Antiope smiles, sharing the same memory of a young Diana pretending to be boneless, like that of a feather, just so her aunt would pretend to struggle to pull her up and onto her back.

Hooking the lasso on her hip, Diana retrieves the golden apple laying on the ground. It remains intact from the blasts of stone and fire. Antiope holds her torch for her. Diana reaches for her aunt’s hand, refusing to let it slip from her own once more.

A loud fluttering within the tree causes them both to look toward it. Where Ladon had once perched, a hawk of golden and earthy brown feathers sits upon it. Its talons long and sharp, with its eyes intelligently studying them.

Diana frowns, recognising it. The doe hides behind both aunt and niece, nose nudging against the backs of their bare legs.

It doesn’t leap toward Antiope to sweep her within its wings. The next moment, it disappears — or transforms into the woman with thick, black hair and piercing green eyes standing below the tree, a golden apple in her hand.

She smiles, toothily. Diana’s heart leaps into her throat at the familiar look the woman appraises them both with. Antiope stiffens beside her.

“My children,” she greets warmly, voice like music. “My Amazons.”


	5. dark doom, honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you can have one soul for the entirety of each of our winters, as hades has persephone in his underworld. but you must choose._ or the one where diana learns that love, sometimes, cuts deeply like that of a blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, partly because the last chapter threw my outline into a bit of a fritz (which i have all sorted, thankfully!), i am shifting our last prompt -- day 8's _free choice_ \-- for this chapter. the rest of the prompts from wondertrev's love week should still continue in the order that they're listed. i simply couldn't make the story work with day 5's prompt right after the big bang that was day 4's!
> 
> thank you all for your support and feedback of this story! i'm super thrilled you're all loving it.
> 
> this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thanks for reading! ♥

Antiope stands in front of her, arms out to keep Hera at bay.

Diana’s hand reaches for her shoulder. “No, Antiope,” she says gently. “I will not let you take this bullet for me.”

Despite her aunt’s efforts, they’re all for naught. Hera isn’t even looking at her. Gaze held by that of the sky, all Diana can see of the goddess is her long neck and her parted yet smiling lips.

"It doesn’t surprise me he finally tends to my garden when you are here," Hera says good-naturedly, shaking her head with a smile. Something about it tells Diana it isn't in true good-nature that she looks up to the heavens. The longer she cannot see her face, the more she feels the goddess is being disingenuous.

She’s half-tempted to peer up herself, but refrains. Menalippe had always told her to keep her eye on the horizon, as had Charlie, with his much gruffer and accented tones. She does as they say, deeming their advice to be more fit than her desire to peer upwards.

Placing a hand on her chest, Hera regards them with wide eyes. “How rude of me,” she chuckles. Although it sounds like bells, Diana can hear the hollowness to it. Antiope must as well, for her hands clench. “You are in my orchard. I should invite you to sit.”

“No, thank you,” Antiope says sharply. She doesn’t accentuate it with a bow of her head. “We are fine standing. We’re waiting for someone.”

“Steve Trevor,” Hera says, still smiling. Diana’s heart skips. The Goddess of the Sky doesn’t glance toward her. Studying Antiope, she chuckles again, but this time Diana knows it’s at her. “I know. You wouldn’t be in my garden if I didn’t want you to be.”

Diana’s brow furrows as she tilts her head. Peering around the garden, all she can see is hills. Small, sloping hills, and trees littered upon them in a pattern. When the sun hits the trees right, they glow blindingly from the apples they hold.

Antiope’s hand curls into a fist once more. Diana looks at it, knowing her aunt means for her to cease. It’s a silent command Diana has always failed at heeding.

“You will not harm him,” Diana says firmly. Hera’s eyes flicker to her, burning bright green with amusement. The Queen of the Gods is shorter than her, with long fingers and long legs, but with arms that she hides beneath that of sheer white sleeves. Her face is pretty, but when she tilts her head, Diana finds Hera sometimes looks quite sharp in her ugliness.

“I will do as I please,” Hera muses. “And you need not fear. If I wanted to harm him, I would have turned him into a spring.” She claps her hands together, as though she has been shaken by a sudden idea. “Or perhaps a tree!”

Diana makes a move to step forward, but Antiope grips her arm fiercely.

Hera gazes upon them unblinkingly for what feels like centuries. It’s broken once a peacock, so bright in its dark blues, purples, and yellows, nuzzles Hera’s hand. Turning to peer at her creature, she scratches its head, similar to how Hecate had regarded her black she-dog.

“Your doe may stay,” Hera says, not looking up from her peacock whose feathers begin to fan out. “As long as she remembers her place.”

Diana reaches back for her doe, who nuzzles her palm with her wet nose. “Her place is by my side,” she says. “She has always known it.”

Hera merely hums, pressing her lips together. Diana finds the sight infuriating.

“Come,” Hera says, more brightly than before. “I know Poseidon’s idea of a picnic is very, very poor. Come sit with me at my table.” With a sweep of her arm, she gestures toward a picnic table beneath a neighbouring thick tree.

Diana wishes Antiope would peer back at her. She follows her aunt’s lead, ensuring her doe remains a toe behind her as they make their way to the tree. The picnic bench and chairs are made of the finest and healthiest wood, with vines wrapped around the legs and backs to nail it to the ground. When Diana takes a seat, she notes how cool the shade is beneath the tree. Peering upward, she becomes enamoured by the rich red berries, temptingly hanging above her.

“You may pick as many as you like,” Hera says as she sits. Her peacock stands at the edge of the shade, feathers still fanned out as if to conceal them. The doe remains by Diana’s side, hiding its head beneath the table. “Many forget to ask for permission.”

It’s bait Diana instantly bites. “Did Medusa ask for permission?”

Hera tilts her head innocently. “Why would she?” She almost laughs. Sweeping her long sleeves over her table, bowls appear, filled with beautifully coloured fruit. Hera doesn’t reach for any of it.

Diana peers at an apple, finding herself hungry. She feels Antiope’s hand on her leg, blunt nails digging like knives into her thigh.

“I informed her there was a chance she would see Poseidon again. The girl decided to take it.” Hera shrugs. She peers at her fruits as though she cannot decide which to take first. Diana’s unconvinced Hera has ever been indecisive in her long life. “I should’ve known he would’ve been too much of a coward to come here.”

Poseidon’s reputation of cowardice shouldn’t surprise her. Of what Diana knows of the God of the Sea, and of the seas itself, has birthed her the notion the oceans could never be tempered. They could never feel fear, for they incited fear themselves. And, yet, Poseidon had not once shown a sliver of bravery after he had recognised what she held in her hand.

Were the skies any different?

Keeping her hands purposefully in her lap, Diana frowns. “How could you do that to her?”

Hera's head snaps up and she narrows her eyes. “I did _nothing_ to Medusa,” she says evenly. There’s an edge to her voice that’s as sharp as that of any blade. Her eyes flare, but unlike the waves of the ocean, nothing within the orchard sparks into life. “I have given her a place to belong. A _home_. I have given her the opportunity to be reborn.”

Diana tenses. Antiope’s fingers brush against her elbow, gentle at first before her grip becomes tight. A warning. Diana ceases from pursuing this path.

“Why am I here?” she asks. Hera’s expression remains unreadable, like that of her golden apples beneath the sun. 

After a long moment, the goddess smiles. “To try the newest fruits of my labour,” Hera says chirpily. She reaches toward the silver bowl containing the apples, fingers almost brushing against the curve of one before she pulls back. Pinching her lips, she reaches for a grape instead, plucking it easily from its stem.

Diana knows it’s a mistake to wear her emotions on her face, but she doesn’t once let her eyes nor mouth harden into armour. She has remained soft in her annoyance thus far. Anger would only stir Hera into being inhospitable. The sky is tempered, as calm as that of Poseidon’s sea before she had walked upon the pier and upset it.

Rather, she marries the two together. Purposefully allowing her anger to appear, she brings forth the longing and sadness of being so far from where she wishes to be. She glances down, opens her mouth, then licks her lips before shaking her head. The hopelessness, she knows, will be more attractive to Hera than that of the fury she feels burn her heart. 

Hidden from view, Diana’s hands clench. The doe rests its head against her thigh, over the top of half her hand. “Why did you bring me here?” Her voice cracks, unplanned, “Why did you take away Steve?”

Hera shakes her head. “Ares took him away,” she states. Tilting her head up slightly, Hera regards her as she plucks a bright red apple from its bowl. The hairs on Diana’s arms stand to attention, accompanied by a shiver that leaves her feeling cold. “All I have done is pluck him from the sky for you.” She holds forth the apple in her palm, perfectly round, beautifully red, with no marring in sight upon its skin.

Confused, she frowns, digging her nails into her palms. She shakes her head incredulously. “I had him,” she says, trying to keep her voice firm. It cracks once more. “And your hawk took him from me.”

Hera dismisses the notion with an easy wave of her hand. The apple disappears; Diana is uncertain if it has fallen up her sleeve or downward to the ground. “My hawk did not _take_ him,” she says, chidingly. “My hawk _saved_ him.”

Diana frowns, more tightly and angrily. The doe whines low in the back of its throat, vibrating down her leg. Antiope sits beside her like stone, biting her tongue. Some battles are meant to be fought alone, while some are side by side, two working as one. Antiope had been the commander of her mother’s army for her ability to know when and when not to draw her sword.

She follows her aunt’s lead. Now is not the time to draw her sword, although she wishes to strike Hera with the lethal tip of its blade.

“Saved him from what?” Antiope asks. There’s a challenge to the arch of her brow and tilt of her head. Diana places her hand upon her thigh, hoping to subside her. “He was perfectly fine with Diana.”

Hera turns to Antiope, expression unkind. “And how would you know?” Her brows raise to punctuate it. “Are you a god of anything?”

Antiope purses her lips.

“Remember,” Hera says firmly, like that of a mother chiding a naughty child. “You are here upon my invitation. I would not wish to take it away from you.”

With a subtle glance downward, Diana notes how Antiope’s hands are clenched so tightly her knuckles turn a sheer, ugly white. It becomes all she can see.

“This is not an invitation I wish to keep,” she says. Both Hera and Antiope’s sharp stares snap toward her. Face heating slightly, she remains calm, pushing forward. “The golden apple granted to me in a message from Iris has brought me here, but I did not accept the invitation to almost be slain by a dragon _and_ Medusa.”

Diana rises, standing abruptly. The doe startles beside her. “This is a game. Poseidon was right.” She turns to Antiope, looking down at her aunt. “I will not be playing it. The stakes are too high.”

Hera’s expression turns to stone. Although she had appeared pretty — not beautiful, like that of Hecate or Iris — she now contorts into an ugliness like that of the greyest and most tumultuous of skies. Hera closes her eyes for a moment, steeling herself with her fingers pulled tightly into her palms.

When she opens her eyes again, they storm angrily. “ _I_ am the reason you are here,” she says firmly. There is no rumbling to accompany her palpable anger. The garden remains quiet, still in a way Poseidon’s beach had never reached. It's as though the trees and the birds have become afraid to so much as breathe. Diana finds herself afraid to move.

“ _I_ created you,” she says, turning to Antiope. “You should be bowing down to me. I have allowed your insolence to last longer than most.”

If Antiope finds herself afraid, she doesn’t show it in the defiant arch of her neck.

“ _Sit_ ,” Hera commands. Unlike her invitation to sit beneath this tree, Diana knows she has no choice. She reluctantly seats herself, and immediately the doe rests its head — a little heavier — upon her thigh.

Hera turns to Diana, her pointed look somewhat calmer. “I am the reason you were born.” Hera leans forward on her elbows, keeping her clenched hands to herself. “Queen Hippolyta of _my_ Amazons begged and begged for a child. She begged the likes of Aphrodite, to bestow a love upon her so great not even her own heart could contain it. She begged the likes of Poseidon to bless her with a home like that of the Themyscira waters. She begged the likes of Hecate and Persephone. She begged and she begged and she _begged_.”

Her eyes harden unattractively. Diana feels heat swirl within her, that of a scolded, defiant child, and that of a warrior wishing to beat back the threat being dangled before her. 

“ _No one_ answered her prayers,” Hera spits.

“Zeus,” Antiope says. It’s inherently clear it’d been a mistake to utter such a name. Hera’s eyes snap to her angrily, a hot, ugly storm brewing within her green eyes. “He answered her prayers. You may have created the Amazons, but you did not create Diana.”

Hera retreats for a moment, away from them both as though they are wasps that have stung her. 

Diana has felt fear only a few times in her long life, but it isn’t a strange sensation. It wraps around her entire being — from nerves to muscles to her heart. Watching the doe and her aunt from the corners of her eye, she keeps as still as she can, as though she has been turned t stone, and, studies Hera for any sudden movements.

She may be the Queen of the Gods, but Diana is the Godkiller.

Head bowed, Hera quietly responds, “She is as beautiful as Aphrodite with her warm eyes, and as wise as Athena for her compassion and battle. She is as strong as Hercules,” she says with a slight acidic tone. “And as swift as Hermes.”

Hera glances up at Diana. Tongue poking out for a moment as she studies her, she remains with her hands off the table. It’s a safe distance — even though Diana could easily extend her arm across the wood.

“Zeus does not possess the patience nor the delicacy to pluck from the gods of Olympus their best traits — the pieces of themselves that they even hide from the Pantheon.” As quick as lightning, Hera smacks her hand against the table. She withdraws it just as quickly, settling down. 

Calmly, she continues, “But _I_ did.” It’s then Hera leans forward and raises her hand, as if to touch Diana’s cheek. Despite the width of the table, she’s so close. The heat of her fingertips is like that of Hephaestus’ smithy fires. She allows it to hover. 

“ _I_ gave you the beauty of Aphrodite — the seeds of physical beauty as well as the inner — and the seeds of Athena’s battle-strength and wisdom. I gave you the best attributes of Zeus’ ill born son — without spite, but with admiration for his strength in manner, and his ability to battle even the greatest of minds.” Her hand drops, but she remains close, despite the table being between them. Diana, along with the rest of Hera’s Orchard, holds her breath. Hera's gaze remains unwaveringly set upon her. “You are quicker than Hermes will ever be, with reflexes only amplified by that of the battle intelligence that I gave you.”

Diana can only stare at her. When she can muster the strength — or perhaps it’s courage — to turn to her aunt, she witnesses only the surprised parting of her lips. She can only wonder how much of her birth story her mother had informed her sister.

From clay and a bolt of lightning she had come to be on an island of warrior adult women. It is almost like the birth tales of the children of Zeus, where they have come to be by a miraculous twist of fate — or Zeus’ wandering eye.

When she peers up at the tree, the branches appear thinner than they had been before. The sky is clearly framed by the leaves, berries, and branches, and while she can see the streak of clouds along the light blue sky, she cannot see a thunderbolt pierce it as she had before.

It’s almost a confirmation, even though Zeus’ absence has always been prevalent in her tale. It’s the only way he has ever been present.

When Hera speaks again, her voice is like that of her palm cradling her cheek. Diana does a double-take to ensure it isn’t her actual fingers enclosing around the lobe of her ear. “I chose Zeus to be your father, for he was the strongest, most powerful, and most handsome God who _deserved_ to be bestowed such an honour.”

For a woman who despises that of her husband, Hera speaks with love.

“You are the daughter of Hera, gifted to the Queen of the Amazons as a daughter who will thrive beneath the tutelage of its greatest warriors.” Hera looks to Antiope, nodding respectfully toward her. Antiope has already softened, long before Hera had even turned to acknowledge her with something other than contempt. “You are not the daughter of Zeus that I despise. You are everything I wanted you to be.”

Briefly does she wonder if what she's about to say sounds too egotistical. Diana wishes to be merely Diana — a girl who had been born to the Amazons, shaped to be only an Amazon herself. To belong to her family had been an ache she has had for centuries. And yet, even in her girlhood, she had known she was very, very different.

“What do I have of yours?” she asks softly, as if afraid to even break this moment of peace. “You speak of Gods, but you have given me nothing.” 

Hera softens, almost uncharacteristically so. It makes her appear beautiful — in comparison to Hecate, Iris, and even the tales of Aphrodite, even _more_ so. “I have given you my blessing to be in this realm, and to be given the chance to see two lost loves you will never see again.” 

Diana turns to Antiope, reaching out for her hand.

“You are not here because Hades wants you to be here. You are not welcomed by your father. You are welcomed by me — the Goddess of Childbirth, the one who ensured your birth was written in the stars. I am the Queen of the Gods, and so I am your queen, as your mother is the queen of your Amazons.”

Diana tries to catch her breath. “Why did your hawk take Steve at Artemis’ Temple?”

It’s then Hera shrugs, taking on an almost childish aura. “Artemis has not had a hand in you being here. She doesn’t deserve to be given the applause.”

Antiope squeezes her hand, as if to command she stifle her tongue. Even in her most mature of moments, Hera is like that of the sky — like that of the children she has been credited for ensuring are brought into the cradle of life.

“Ares is your brother,” Diana states. She leans forward, though she doesn’t rest her hands on the table. Absently, her fingers drift beneath that of the doe’s chin. “Does everyone in the Pantheon despise him?”

Hera laughs prettily. “Ares suffers the greatest weakness of man: an ego. I will not allow him to tread so carelessly upon the earth, nor will I ever let him target one of my greatest births.”

The irony isn't lost to her.

Diana had never grown with children beside her. She had been friends with adult women, with warriors who had borne witness to great achievements and the darkest of horrors. The women of Themyscira had fought battles she pretended to be a warrior within, fighting with her makeshift wooden sword and her invisible enemies. But she can easily identify when one has the temper of a child. One moment, Hera is a friend, the next a foe, and briefly a threat that seizes at Diana’s heart.

Despite Hera’s childishness — and quick to anger tendencies — she does not feel hatred in her heart for her. She is not as physically beautiful as that of Aphrodite, nor is she as wonderful to be around as Artemis. She possesses an ugliness Diana has borne witness to for the last six decades.

Though she may be out of reach, Hera is so painfully human. 

In her time within the world of man, Diana has witnessed — and often the giver of — retribution. She has comforted the ugliness of men — the jealousy of Steve; the alcoholism of Charlie; the insecurity and subsequent deviousness of Sameer; and even that of Etta Candy had been ugly, with her ease to lie for her own purposes as time and loss had hardened her — and yet she finds herself still so surprised to find it staring nakedly at her.

Diana gently takes Hera’s hands in her own, startling the Queen of the Gods. “Thank you,” she says genuinely. Hera looks at her incredulously, as though she has never seen her before. She doesn't break her gaze. “For this blessing. For this life.”

Clearly taken aback, it is only moments before she is given a reaction. Hera smiles beautifully, genuinely touched, and squeezes her hands in return.

Diana takes them back, her fingers humming somewhat addictively with remnants of Hera’s power. Hands in her lap, with one pressed beneath the chin of the doe to scratch at its fur, she sits, for the first time, calmly and contentedly at Hera’s picnic table.

Sitting straighter, the Queen of the Gods appraises her in a different manner altogether. It’s warmer, as though she has welcomed Diana into her own arms. The Orchard hums warmly, brightening beneath Hera’s acceptance. “As all who come before me, you will be tested,” Hera says. “You have a choice, Diana of Themyscira. You can have one soul for the entirety of each of our winters, as Hades has Persephone in his Underworld. But you must choose.” Hera’s eyes shift from her to Antiope.

Her aunt doesn't react. 

Diana turns to her aunt, gripping her hands tightly. “Antiope,” she begins, shaking her head. The words become lost in her throat.

Antiope’s hands squeeze hers before they rise to her cheeks. Cupping them gently, she lifts her fingers to readjust her tiara. “You have been my greatest treasure, Diana,” she says quietly. “But I will not be a choice for you to make.”

Diana’s hands cover hers, clutching desperately to her. “Antiope, you _must_ come back with me.”

She shakes her head. “I belong here.” Brushing Diana’s hair from her shoulder, she rests her arms on her biceps. “There is no place for me in Themyscira without you.”

“What about Hippolyta? Menalippe? They need you. _Antiope_ —”

“There are others who need me more,” she says, shaking her head. Then, she smiles; it feels as though the sun is warming her face. “There are girls — many of them — who are just a stubborn as you when it comes to learning a bow. They need a stubborn teacher in return.” 

Pressing her lips tightly together, Diana pushes her tears back as far as she can. “I do not want you to stay.”

“I do not want to,” Antiope confesses. “But I cannot live a life within the world of man, nor can I be within my Themyscira knowing I will never see you again.” Her hand reaches up to touch Diana’s face, fingers gliding down her cheek gently. “This way, I can see you — from his stories of your adventures in a world, I will come to learn through you.”

_Steve._

Antiope’s hand rises to lift her chin up when she bows her head.

“I wish we had more time,” Diana says. She grips her aunt’s arms. Despite her tears, she smiles, “But I will do as you say, for once.”

Antiope smiles, chuckling wetly, “For once, you listen.” Brushing her thumb below the corner of Diana’s eye, she wipes a tear away.

Without releasing her aunt, Diana turns to Hera. “What must I do?”

“Prove yourself worthy.” Hera turns toward the small hill in the distance. “Zeus had once been my greatest love,” Hera says with ample regret. “I do wonder if Steve Trevor will be a passing for you.”

In her peripherals, she sees the peacock’s feathers furl into its back. The shade beneath the tree thins, although it doesn’t disappear. It's a gentle dismissal. The doe lifts its head from her leg.

Diana finds it difficult to stand. It must be why Antiope does so first, seeing to it she follows like that of a shadow. Hera remains seated.

The tree above them feels out of reach. Although the branches had hung low before, it has ascended now — grown feet, as though afraid she would pluck the berries from it as some have tried with the golden apples.

When she looks back at the Queen of the Gods, she appears like a woman with regret. Diana wonders if she will apologise — for the games, for the dragon, for Medusa. But Hera merely leans forward and takes yet another apple from her bowl, examining it between her long nails as the sun glints off it through the thick canopy above her. Another peacock appears from behind the tree, colours bright like that of her own armour.

“He is waiting for you at the entrance of where you came,” Hera says, studying her. “And he has brought a friend.”


	6. he a message, i'm the runner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i can't live in this world without you. i don't know how._ or the one where diana's given the chance to choose a different life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry to leave you guys hanging, this instalment ended up taking a few more days than i had originally intended to given what i wanted to achieve and include in it. it's a bit of a long one! hopefully still enjoyable. c:
> 
> this was written to wondertrev's love week prompt, day 5 "five times." 
> 
> as always, this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thanks for reading. ♥

Diana leads Antiope and the doe outside of the mouth of the hedge maze and onto the winding cobblestone path. Her hand never once leaves her aunt’s, nor does she allow the doe to walk too far ahead of her. 

The Orchard has grown brighter since departing from Hera, with peacocks appearing from behind trees to stand in the sun and reflect the colours brightly upon the grass. The greens shimmer into blues and golds, with the eyes of the feathers patterned into the blades. A cow is loud in the distance.

“What do you think?” Antiope asks her, studying her profile intently. “Do you think she is telling the truth?”

“Of how I came to be?” Diana glances at her aunt, then looks to the cobblestones. As a little girl, she used to hop along them, like a frog. Now, she finds the childish desire is so dull she barely skips in her step. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I believe her.”

“Easily,” Antiope scolds quietly. “You must begin to question what you are told, Diana. Not all gods speak the truth.”

“And not all who you speak with know the truth,” Diana counters gently. “I have spent sixty years in the world of man, Antiope. I have been lied to, and I have lied. If Hera is lying, then I don’t see what she gains from me.”

“Your loyalty,” Antiope says, holding her hand out to count upon her fingers. “Your worship. It is what keeps her alive.”

Diana shrugs. “I don't see it.”

Antiope’s hand is strong upon her bicep, pulling her to a stop. The doe easily falls in line beside her. “Her words were pretty, Diana. But they are just words.”

Reaching for her aunt’s arms, she grips them gently. “Antiope,” she says, looking at her. How does she even begin to explain how the pieces merely fit together, when they had never found a place with one another before? As a little girl, she had yearned for answers to questions she couldn't find the words to ask. Somehow, her aunt had known what it she sought. She hopes for her to open her eyes to it now.“I feel the truth to her words. You always taught me to trust my gut. I am trusting it.”

Antiope squeezes her biceps kindly. “I don't trust it,” she says. “But I am not you.” She bows her head for a moment, smiling to herself. “Even after all this time, I still want to try and teach you.”

Diana grips her hand. “I will always learn from you,” she says warmly. “I am always learning from you.”

Antiope glances back at the entrance of the hedge maze, as if expecting to see Hera loitering outside of it. There’s no one — not even a peacock to spy on them. She can hear her aunt's unspoken words loud in her head: Hera’s eyes and ears are everywhere, even when they cannot see them.

“We must go,” Antiope says before storming along the cobblestones. Diana lengthens her strides, her doe beginning to trot beside her. “I cannot leave him waiting for too long. Men,” she shakes her head. “They are hopeless.”

Diana laughs. “Be nice.”

Her aunt raises her eyebrow when she looks at her. “I am always nice.”

They continue along the cobblestone path, never once deviating despite the peacocks that stand upon the stones. The walk from garden to fence feels longer than it had before. Diana easily surmises it must be the anticipation she feels coiling around every muscle and nerve in her body that makes the length of her strides appear longer.

From a short distance, the woods appears the same — bright and healthy with a warm green, and trees littered with space between them to allow sunlight to filter through. Waiting by the fence is a large winged horse, standing out like a sore thumb amongst all the shads of the earth.

As Diana approaches, she sees a familiar mop of sandy hair. Her breath catches.

Antiope whispers, “Go.” Releasing Diana’s hand, she gives her a gentle shove. The doe trills in excitement as Diana runs toward the horse.

His back is turned. The sight of it makes her excited for all the mischievous things she could do. “I'm sorry,” she can hear him say to the white pegasus, “but I don't have any oats on me.” Hands diving into his pockets, he pulls the fabric out as if to show the creature what he speaks of is true. It snorts, unamused. “Come on,” Steve whines. “I'll get you oats from the oat god once I find him.” The pegasus shakes his head and stomps his feet.

She laughs. “There is no such thing as an oat god.”

He turns around, blue eyes shining brighter than Poseidon's oceans or Hera’s skies. His lips curve upward to beam more warmly than the sun is ever capable of.

His brows furrow in mock uncertainty, the smile never once leaving his face. “Are you sure? I could've sworn I heard one of them coming.”

Diana smiles, shaking her head. “No oat god of any kind. Just an impatient girl.” Rather than wait any longer, she steps into him, pulling him close — and not too hard this time. His arms wind around her, palms flat against her back.

“ _More_ impatient than I remember,” he murmurs.

“Diana has never known patience,” Antiope says kindly. The doe trills behind Diana as Steve pulls away from her, tipping his head in respect to her aunt. “I’m surprised you survived.”

Steve’s hand rests at the back of his neck. “To tell you the truth … so am I.”

Diana peers over her shoulder to her aunt, brows creased. “You cannot be serious.”

Antiope answers with a proud smile.

“ _This_ is what he’s flying?” Diana steps around Steve to rest her hand against the pegasus’ snout, earning her a warm puff of air. “I thought you meant a plane!”

“I had the same reaction.” Steve approaches the pegasus, raising his hand in the air before he tentatively touches its shoulder. It arches into him, responsive. “We're still finding our footing.”

“Where are we to go?” Diana asks, looking at the four of them — Antiope, Steve, the doe, and the pegasus. No one offers her an explicit answer. “Hera said I must prove myself,” she continues easily, ignoring the way Steve’s brow shoots into his hairline. 

She turns to her aunt. “Where?”

Antiope approaches the pegasus, confidently placing her hand on its snout. “He will show us,” she says, looking at the horse. The pegasus allows her to touch him, although he doesn’t preen beneath her attention. Diana wonders if she’s speaking of Steve instead. 

Quickly, Antiope moves to the side of the pegasus. “We must move quickly,” she says. She moves to pull herself onto the pegasus’ back but stops herself. Looking to Steve, she gestures with her hand. “You are to pilot it.”

“Me?” Steve’s hand presses flat against the lapel of his winter jacket. “I’ve never — I just brought him in. I’m not — I don’t have a pegasus riding license.”

Antiope’s expression is marred with impatience. “You must ride him,” she tells him. “That is your part to play.”

Steve glances with uncertainty at Diana before taking a deep breath in. “Okay,” he nods. He approaches the pegasus, hands laid out before him. “Okay, buddy,” he says to the creature. “We’re just going to board you like before. No funny business. Just … stay still …” With a hand on the pegasus’ feathered wing, Steve slowly and delicately pulls himself astride its back. Gripping its neck, he releases it, carding his hands through its mane. “Good boy.” The pegasus snorts.

Diana quickly sits atop the horse behind Steve, fingers pulling at the fabric of his jacket. Antiope climbs atop behind her, arms around her waist. 

“Alright,” Steve breathes out. “We’re just going to go straight?”

“Wherever the pegasus takes us,” Antiope says with annoyance. “Now _go._ ”

Steve’s heel is gentle against the pegasus’ side, but the creature takes off at a trot. The doe runs beside them, keeping pace with the pegasus’ long legs. Before Diana can take in the garden as they run by, the pegasus kicks off into the sky. The doe remains on the ground, running beneath them as if a shadow.

Diana’s arms are loose around Steve’s waist, purposefully giving him enough freedom to move. Antiope grips her tightly, as if afraid to lose her during this flight.

The garden becomes a small map below them, with the tops of trees marking areas of the Orchard. Diana tries to spy Hera beneath them but struggles to find the picnic table or the hedge maze. From the skies, she sees several mazes, all identical in shape.

Eventually the long garden and its small hills breaks into sand, then ocean. Poseidon’s pier stretches out halfway across the seas, the water tumultuous and shadowed with shapes of creatures beneath the surface. She peers over the side of the pegasus to see the shapes, wondering if any of the sea creatures will emerge in greeting. The whale surfaces, flipping itself onto its back to bear its white belly toward them before crashing back into the water.

As the bright blue ocean extends below them, another beach appears. The sand is darker than that of Poseidon’s, with the shore line thinner and lacking a pier. The pegasus begins to descend, landing gently along the soft sand. Its wings beat twice before it folds them against its sides.

Antiope is the first to leap from its back. Holding a hand out, she helps Diana land on her feet before venturing toward where the water laps at the sand. Diana turns to Steve, amused at his shell shock expression.

“Woah,” he says, hands still in the mane of the pegasus. “I just flew a pegasus over a whale.” He turns to her with childish excitement. “Did you see that?”

“That was Poseidon,” Diana smiles brightly. Steve’s eyes remain wide. Still amused at his bewilderment, Diana continues, “I met him.”

Steve inhales deeply. “I'm going to need a few beers after all of this.” Diana extends her hand toward him, which he takes, assisting him off the pegasus’ back. He stumbles at first before he gains his footing on the sand. He peers down at it, toeing it with his boot.

Noticing his frown, she looks down at their feet. She sees nothing but sand. Looking up at him once more, she tilts her head and asks, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Steve looks up at her, a slight crease to his brow. “You don’t notice it?” Bending down, he scoops sand into his hands. “This,” he says, holding the clump out to her as it slips between his fingers, “is your sand.” Diana frowns, confused. “Diana,” he says brightly, lips curving upward. “We’re in Themyscira.”

Diana immediately looks upward, turning on the spot as she notes the blue sky, the clear waters, the warm breeze, and the cliffside her mother used to tell her stories of its creation.

“Antiope!”

Spinning on her heel, Diana sees a shadow of herself. Smaller in size and shorter in stature, with big cheeks and an even bigger smile. Little Diana runs at the speed of Hermes and leaps into the arms of her aunt. Antiope spins on the spot, kissing Diana all over.

Steve stands beside her, arm nudging hers. Quietly, he asks, “Is that …”

“Me,” she says quietly. Her smile widens, her eyes wet, as she watches the scene of her aunt and herself before her. 

Her younger self doesn’t once notice Steve or herself behind her, as Antiope continues to spin her before she stops. Lowering her to the ground, she lets little Diana stomp her feet in the sand and look up at her. “Mother won’t let me play,” she pouts.

Antiope lowers herself to the sand, knees pressed against it. She raises her hand to touch little Diana’s arm. “Diana,” she gently chides, “you are much too young to be a warrior. Enjoy your girlhood.”

“But no one is enjoying their girlhood but me!” Placing her hands on her hips, Diana presses her lips together and draws her brows. She stares up at her aunt with an insufferably challenging stare. Antiope only smiles wider. “I want to be like you,” Diana says, reaching for her aunt. “I want to be like you and mother, and fight.”

“In due time, Diana,” Antiope says gently. She strokes her hair, seemingly calming the beast of little Diana’s impatience.

“You were cute,” Steve says, leaning into her.

Diana looks at him, pressing her lips together to stifle her embarrassed laugh. “Stop.”

“I’m being serious.” With a wave toward the scene before them, he shakes his head. “Real cute. Don’t see much has changed in your attitude, though.”

Diana laughs louder.

It snaps little Diana's attention toward them. Frowning, she peers upon them, and asks Antiope, “Who are they?”

Antiope looks at them, still kneeling upon the sand. “Friends,” she says. Diana peers at her aunt in confusion. “If you are patient, you’ll come to know them.”

Little Diana rolls her neck and sighs. “But I don’t want to be patient!” Pouting, she peers at them again, eyebrow slightly arching. Leaning toward her aunt, she whispers loudly, “Do you think they’d spar with me?”

“Diana,” Antiope says firmly. “They will not spar with you. You will not fight. You are the princess. Princesses do not fight when they are so small.”

Steve watches on, expression warm, smile vibrant. Diana glances toward him before she finds the courage to take a step forward. Antiope eyes her with suspicion, while little Diana tilts her chin up defiantly. 

“I’ll spar with you,” she says.

Little Diana peers up at her aunt with hope.

Antiope doesn’t peer down at her young niece, instead staring with a warning toward her older one. She can feel her aunt’s desire to scold her right there, but she can’t without her younger self understanding who stands before her.

“One spar,” Antiope concedes. “Then you go back to your lessons.”

Little Diana squeals with delight, plucking a sword from her back. She approaches Diana with uneasy steps on the sand, and stands before her with her arms behind her back. “My name is Princess Diana,” she says cheerily.

Diana lowers herself to the sand, one knee resting against it. “My name is Diana Trevor,” she says, glancing up at her aunt. Antiope stands at her full height, watching them carefully. “I like your sword.”

“Do you have a sword?” Little Diana peers around her, searching for her weaponry. All she sees is the armour she wears — familiar, yet not quite identified by her younger self just yet.

Steve taps her on the shoulder. “Uh.” He holds out the hilt of a blade to her; when she peers past him, her doe sits on the sand, a sheath strap wrapped around its neck. “Your friend brought this for you, Diana Trevor.”

Diana smiles up at him. Holding the sword in her hands, she notes how it's light — the blade is striking in its simple carvings and sharp at the tip. Little Diana peers at it with curiosity, but doesn’t reach forward to steal it from her.

Standing to her full height, Diana holds her blade tip down toward the sand. “The best of one,” she says.

Her younger self nods vigorously. “Best of one!” With a bow, little Diana steps backward, feet slipping into the familiar stance of the Amazons.

Diana smiles before she lifts her sword. Little Diana launches toward her, leading her to parry her blows. She’s small and quick, leaping as high as she can to strike her blade. Despite the tip catching her bicep, Diana doesn’t feel the accompanying sting of being sliced.

She doesn’t have time to study her arm. She drops to the ground and slices her blade along the sand, prompting her younger self to leap into the air with a twist. Landing on both feet like that of a cat, she holds her arms out, her entire being wide open for a strike.

Diana’s quick to lash at her side, but she finds herself thrown onto her back. Little Diana has taken her sword to smack against her knees with a powerful enough blow to cause them to buckle.

With her back on the sand, little Diana stands to the side, tip of her blunt blade pointed at her collarbone.

Dropping her sword against the sand, Diana lifts her hands, and smiles up at her. She sees herself smiling down, beaming as brightly as the sun. Her entire being hums with the excitement of her victory.

Little Diana spins on her foot and runs toward her aunt, loudly saying, “Did you see that? Did you see how I flipped?”

“Yes, yes, Diana,” Antiope says proudly. “I did. Now go, as you promised.”

She begins to run back toward the grass of Themyscira, but before she manages to run too far, she turns on her heel and yells, “Thank you!” She pauses, looking intently at Diana before her eyes flick toward her aunt. Seeing something in her expression, she turns and bolts up the sand, disappearing into the grasslands.

Antiope turns to appraise her with a disapproving look. “That was stupid.”

Her heart skips a beat; the adrenaline coursing through her deflates immediately. Diana sighs. “It was merely nothing.”

“You don’t know what this is, Diana,” Antiope scolds, voice fierce. “This is a test. You cannot fail this test.”

Diana bows her head, ignoring the sword that lays on the sand by her feet. “I know,” she says. Lifting her head defiantly, she pins her aunt with a stare. “I will not fail.”

Steve steps into view, gesturing between Antiope and Diana. “Did either of you understand what that was about?”

Diana shakes her head. Antiope merely presses her lips together. “It’s best we don’t linger for too long,” her aunt says. “We don’t know what we are dealing with — or which god will bestow another obstacle upon us.”

Antiope turns on her heel and walks like a warrior along the sand. The crabs would scatter into the ocean in fear of her stomp, if they were not already afraid of the General.

Diana watches her go.

“She seems tense,” Steve comments. His hand lightly touches the back of hers.

Diana sighs. “She has always been that way,” she says. “My mother was worse.”

“I can believe that.”

It isn’t a long walk from beach to the grass leading to the city centre. Steve walks slowly beside her, peering up at the cliffside and the bright blue sky. She remembers how he hadn’t had time to admire it. His plane had thrown him into the water before she had plucked him like a flower from the ocean, and had taken him to the steps of Hippolyta’s throne room. The next time he had seen the beach had been under the cover of night.

The grass is soft beneath their feet. Antiope waits by the white stone steps leading up toward where some of the fruit stalls sit along cobblestone and sand.

As they begin to ascend the stone steps, Antiope stops two above them. Hand held high, she curls her fingers into her palm, leaving her knuckles white. She doesn’t move, head tilted high as she peers up at the spiral of buildings upon their island.

“What is it?” Diana asks, stepping beside her.

Antiope hushes her. “Something is wrong,” she whispers. Peering over her shoulder, she ignores Steve, a few steps below, and the doe, looking out at the beach and the calm water. 

The ground beneath their feet begins to shake. Antiope’s head snaps to attention as she peers at the expanse of green plains to their side. The hills slope gently up to the sky, leading Diana’s eye along a familiar path where she can only see the tip of the colosseum. 

A warrior cry pierces the quiet of the island. Steve furrows his brows, looking uncomfortable where he stands. “Uh, what was that?”

Black winged creatures appear overheard, shooting through the sky before diving behind a tall hill. There’s a scream, a clap of thunder. A bolt of red energy shoots towards the sky, hitting the tip of the hill and setting the grass ablaze.

“The Mother Box.” Antiope is quick down the steps. At the base, she stares up at the sky as the creatures plummet through it, scarring it with their grey, ugly bodies. Diana begins descending the stairs. “ _No_ ,” Antiope says firmly. She holds her hand out in a command. “Leave. Go.”

“How can it be the Mother Box?” Diana stands beside her aunt, peering up at the creatures before the sky becomes clear once more. “Antiope —”

Antiope withdraws the blade sheathed by her long boot. She turns to her, face pale and stricken. “Steppenwolf.”

Diana’s heart hammers wildly in her chest. She takes a step forward to only be pushed back by Antiope's hand. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “You must go. Your destiny is not here.”

“But I can help.”

“And become distracted.” Antiope closes the distance between them, clutching her to her chest. “You must remember to stay on your path,” she whispers in her ear. “Do not get distracted. Do not forget you are much bigger than all of this. This is not your place.” 

She pulls back, kissing Diana on both cheeks, in a subdued manner than how she had approached her younger self. “This is for me, my test. I cannot protect you as I had once shielded you from the course of your destiny. But I can help you set astride it.”

“Antiope …”

Raising her hand to gently stroke her cheek, she smiles sadly at her. “I love you, Diana. We will meet many times in this lifetime.”

Antiope doesn’t linger. She turns on her heel and runs as hard as she can along the plains toward the colosseum housing the Mother Box.

Diana’s feet are rooted in place. Steve grips her arm, trying to tug her toward the beach. “Come on, Diana,” he pleads. “We have to go. I’m sorry.”

Lifting her hand to wipe away at her tears, she studies her aunt’s retreating, determined back for a moment longer before she turns on her foot. Leading Steve and the doe along the beach to where the water laps at the shore, she stops short when she finds nothing to help them off the island.

“How do we leave?” she asks no one in particular.

Steve tugs at her arm. Pointing up at the sky, the pegasus’ silhouette is darkened by how its wings, spread wide, shield the sun. It lands in the water, the waves lapping at its knees. Diana and Steve wade through the water, the doe following at a pace behind them.

Diana sits in front of Steve, feeling his arms wrap around her as he takes grip of the pegasus’ skin. As if that’s all the creature needs, it kicks off, the doe swept up in its wings, disappearing like that of autumn leaves plucked by the winter winds.

She wants to reach out to touch the sand and the grass once more. Gripping Steve’s wrist tightly, she looks overhead, studying the dark green grass for the figures of the Amazons. She sees them congregate near the stone colosseum, horses bolting from the stones as her mother — a brilliant gold figure — shoots across the grass. The ugly creatures ignore the sky, taking to the ground as they try and pluck her mother from her horse.

Tempted to dive onto the ground to help save her home, Diana feels Steve grip her hip hard with his other hand. When she turns to look at where his hand rests, Themyscira is gone.

She doesn’t know how long they remain in the air. The ocean beneath them is vast, never once turning into a spit of land nor the woods of Hecate she has become so familiar with. The pegasus remains undisturbed, flying in a mostly straight path, only twisting slightly at the quiet command of Steve’s hand.

He remains silent behind her, warm where his back presses against hers and searingly hot where his hand rests against her hip. It’s almost as though he’s afraid if he rests that palm against the pegasus, she’ll leap into the ocean below and swim back to Themyscira.

Lingering on the tumultuous scene she’d witnessed below, Diana reminds herself that this is all a part of Hera’s foreseen test. Perhaps it is not real. Her mother had always told her there was nothing beyond their island but the world of man, and once one entered their bubble, their perceptions became clouded by the hands of the more manipulative of gods. 

Themyscira was safe. It had to be safe.

The simple story had formed a naive perception of the world. Looking back, Diana wonders if her mother had ever intended to prepare her for the nuances of man.

The pegasus begins to descend, the air pitching cooler around them as it dives through mist. Beneath them is dark, clouded in thick black patches of night. When the pegasus is as high as the tallest tree, Diana sees a familiar thin, silver fence.

Then it all comes into view.

The airstrip. The cool, shiny asphalt. The remnants of a battle where both sides had lost.

“Steve,” she whispers hurriedly. His hand grips her hip. “Steve.”

“I'm here,” he whispers in her ear. His voice doesn't sound too confident, shaken by the scene before them.

The pegasus lands easily on the runway, standing still as they sit upon its back. Wisps of smoke twirl from the broken cars, the battered planes, and the demolished hanger shack.

Diana leaps off the pegasus out of curiosity more than want. Steve lingers before sliding off its back. The doe appears beneath its wing, where it stays. Afraid.

“Why are we here?” Steve asks, looking around. Diana recognises the devastation. It’d been by her hand that it had been wrought upon the air hanger. When she peers over her shoulder at him, she notes the distant, confused look in his eye.

All of this is new for him.

Diana turns to walk toward the watchtower, determined to see if there is anyone still lingering on the airstrip. There is a battle to be won — two battles lost, with another clearly underway. 

Her ears begin to ring painfully.

“Diana!” Steve calls. She stops, but not of her own want once more. When she turns to see him, she finds herself abandoned at the airstrip.

She turns, frantically searching for a hint of his silhouette in the dark. The pegasus and doe are gone, too.

“Steve! _Steve!_ ” 

Red and gold light up the runway. Diana squints, shielding her eyes. A plane explodes above her. Looking up, Diana feels the heat circle her, as though she has been whipped up within the explosion herself.

Her chest feels hollow. Heart hammering hard, she presses her hand to her collarbone, then to her throat when she finds it difficult to breathe.

The smell of the explosion is toxic, so thick it causes her to cough.

“ _Steve!_ ” she shouts into the sky.

The air becomes warm, whipping around her. The sense of devastation envelopes her. She can hear Ares’ voice, smooth and sharp all in one. He laughs at her. His words are visually blurred before her, surrounding her like she’s beneath water. Her ears ring sharply, ducking her underneath.

Diana stands on the dark airstrip, screaming at the burning sky.

“Diana!” 

Tugging at her arm.

“Diana!”

She opens her eyes.

Steve stands before her, almost nose to nose. His hands grip her biceps painfully for a human. Blunt fingernails digging into her skin like knives, his warm hand on her face captures her gaze.

It settles on him, recognising he stands before her. 

When she peers up at the sky, it’s still coloured in bright reds and yellows. She looks in front of her and sees his bright blue eyes.

She grips his arms painfully. He winces, but she doesn’t let up. “Steve! You were in the _plane_. I couldn’t save you, I can’t save you.”

“Diana,” he yells again, voice raw. How long has he been screaming for her? “Diana. You can save me. You’ve saved me. I’m here. I’m _here._ ” Hands cupping her face, he grips her jaw, trying to pull her face towards his as she looks up at the sky again. 

A shriek burns through her throat as she sees pieces of the plane fall from the heavens.

Steve looks up at the sky before he tries to make himself appear taller, blocking her view. “Diana!” Pressing his fingers tightly against the face of his watch on her wrist, he pushes hard at her pulse point. She looks at him, heart hammering like a startled lamb.

“I’m _here_ ,” he says forcefully, slowly. “We have to go. _Please._ I'm starting to understand this now.”

When Diana peers up at the sky again, it’s tinged in a light golden glow. The pieces of the plane have disappeared, dissipated like mist into the sky. She peers at Steve and presses her hands over his face, touching his nose, prodding at his jaw.

“I thought I lost you.”

“Once,” he says. “But not twice.”

Diana pulls him to her, hugging him so tightly she swears his bones meld with her own. He grips her back, fingers tight in her hair, pulling at it without meaning to. 

The air hanger is dead once more with silence and the stench of defeat, the burning tar, and blood. Diana presses her head into his shoulder, sobbing so loudly it shakes the ground beneath them.

“I can’t live in this world without you,” she sobs. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ve done it for sixty years,” he says gently. Her ear vibrates with the deep tones of it. “You can do anything, Diana. I truly believe that.”

“They're all dead,” she whispers, throat feeling dry and raw. “I couldn’t save them.”

“We’re like that,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Humans have an expiry date, Diana. We’re going to die. We have to. There's not enough time. It’s just the cycle of life.”

She shakes her head into his shoulder, pressing her forehead with more strength against the familiar scented fabric. With her heart still hammering in her chest, the adrenaline slowly subsides. Diana remains where she stands, hugging him to her.

“Sometimes I wish I had died here,” she says, feeling the words smothered by his jacket. They inevitably travel to him, causing his grip on her hair to tighten. His fingers try to dig into the plates of her armour. “Sometimes the world is too horrible.”

“London can be like that most of the time.”

Diana smiles, then presses her lips together. She doesn’t lift her head.

“Not feeling strong enough for tomorrow doesn’t make you weak, Diana.” His chin rests on her head. Kissing her hair, his hand brushes against the back of her neck. “It makes you human.”

Pulling away from him, she stares at him unblinkingly. Cradling her jaw, he wipes his thumb against her cheeks. “You are incredible,” he says, lips curving upward. “And smart. You may be Diana, Princess of Themyscira, but you are Diana. You are more than what this world deserves, but you are just what it needs.”

Wiping a stray tear from the bridge of her nose, he sighs. “I don’t belong in the world you’re from, Diana. I never have. But I've always known, since the day I looked up and saw you on that beach, that you were meant for much more than me. The fact that you think otherwise …” He licks his lips, shaking his head. “It’s humbling. You made me a better man. And you’re more than this.”

He peers around the air hanger. “This is not you,” he says, looking at the toppled cars and the crippled chained fence. “You are not the destruction of this air hanger. You're the beauty of it. The hope.”

“This is what happened after you left,” she says quietly. A tear falls quickly from her eye, then another tickling her nose. “I almost killed Maru with that car. But the thought of you stopped me.”

He smiles, lips pressed together. “I'm glad I can be a good influence.”

“Do you sometimes wish you had never met me?” Diana peers at him, expression openly vulnerable. Her fingers grip at his sleeves desperately. “That your plane had fallen outside of the forcefield?”

Without hesitation, he shakes his head. His grip is firm, lips curving upward. “Not for one second. I just wish we had more time.”

Diana leans forward, pressing her forehead against his. “We will,” she murmurs. 

“I know,” he smiles, hands sliding down her arms. He licks his lips, steeling himself with a breath. “I didn’t give you my watch so you’d be on time. I gave it to you because it’s all I had to give. The promise of it. In case I miraculously survived … or didn't. I wanted you to know I always had time for you. I always wanted more time with you. I even wished we met at a different time, when we’d both been younger.”

Diana remains close to him as she peers up at him. “Or older.”

His lip curves upward. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’ve changed. I know you have. You’ve settled. I can see it.”

“There is still space for you,” she says, gripping at his arms. 

“I don't doubt it,” he says quietly, confidently. “I don't know what else this place has in store for us, but I want you to know …” Steve pulls back from her, stealing his warmth. His hands remain on her, burning her skin. “I want to see you save the world. Just once.”

At his warm smile, she smiles, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“Now let’s go,” he says gently, taking her hand. “I kind of hope our friend takes us to the snow.”

Diana smiles. “I’ve already been,” she says. He arches his brow. “At Poseidon’s rock pool, Hera sent me a message. We were dancing beneath the snow.” She purposefully neglects the details of Veld’s strong structures, the laugher and smiles of its people, and that of Charlie and Sameer.

“Huh,” he grins. “Maybe it was one of those vision things. Of the future.”

Diana ensures her smile is bright and hopeful, feeling it blossom brightly in her chest. She knows now what Hera’s message had been intended for: as easily as she had retrieved her own happiness, Hera could easily snatch it away, replacing beautiful snow and laughter with the hollowness of dirt.

She refuses to think of it as she climbs atop the pegasus, her arms wrapping around Steve as she contentedly presses her cheek against his shoulder.

She doesn’t study the skeleton of the air hanger below them as they ascend.

It isn’t too long before the pegasus stops flying over the heads of trees clustered tightly together, dark as though they stand beneath a patch of night, and soars in circles around the buildings of a small town. Diana keeps her head on Steve’s shoulder, listening to the beating of the pegasus’ feathered wings. 

Eventually, the pegasus descends, feet gently landing on the ground. Steve peers over his shoulder at her, and doesn’t shrug her off when she doesn’t move. “We’re here,” he says. “Kind of figured out where that is, too.”

Diana doesn’t lift her head to peer around them. There’s buildings, taller and more compactly built, with little to no breathing room between them. They extend so high into the grey and dreary sky they almost disappear into the clouds themselves. The pegasus kicks his hooves against large, uneven stones which form a road.

Lifting her head, she drops to her feet on the road. Looking over her shoulder, then straight ahead of her, she hears a faint foghorn in the distance. She turns to Steve, brows furrowed together. He only smiles. “Welcome back to London,” he laughs. “I can see you’re still impressed by it.”

Diana shakes her head. “Why are we here?”

Reaching for her hand, Steve interlocks their fingers tightly before he gently leads her down the road. The pegasus doesn’t follow. When she glances over her shoulder, she sees the doe emerge from being tucked beneath its wing, then sneeze.

Steve leads her down an alleyway, smaller in width and longer in length than the one she had deflected bullets within so long ago. She remains a step behind him as they reach its end and take a sharp left.

Then they're standing before a door. Diana takes a step back, peering up at the sign, but it’s dilapidated and slipping from its hooks. Steve tugs her off the quiet road and into the loud and smokey pub.

A cheer vibrates through the room.

“Steve!”

“Diana!”

“Hey, lovebirds!”

Steve leads them within what feels to be two steps to a round booth. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees them smiling.

“Sameer,” she says with a wide smile, seeing him blush before tipping his hat in greeting. “Charlie.”

“Aye.”

Relief floods her at seeing a familiar yet shy face. “Chief.” He salutes her before allowing his hands to fall into his lap.

Etta beams brightly from the corner, hands cradling a pint larger than her. “I gave him a watch, and he still isn’t on time. Bet you lost that, didn’t you, Steve?"

“The stopwatch?” he asks brightly. “Yeah. Gave it to my granddad.”

Etta shakes her head, lowering herself to sip at her pint.

“Move to the side! Move to the side!” Sameer beckons Charlie and Chief to shift to his right with a wave of his hand. “Charlie, you’ve put on some weight!”

“They’re love handles, Sam,” Charlie says, taking it in stride. “All the ladies love ‘em.”

Steve shakes his head, slipping into the booth beside Sameer. She sits beside Steve, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands as she watches them.

“It’s only been a few years,” Charlie says from across the round table, pint smacking against the surface. Beer threatens to splash over the brim, but miraculously knows better than to. “Give or take.”

“Have you been busy?” Sameer peers up at Steve, invading his space. "I've always wanted a niece and nephew."

“Don't you have a sister?"

Sameer leans away, scrunching up his face. Almost resting his head on Charlie's shoulder, he whispers loudly, “You can never have too many.”

Charlie looks down at him in a manner that suggests he’ll shove him away if he doesn't so much as move. Sameer must read it as he straightens up with a laugh.

Diana admires them for the charming smiles they wear, and the easy way their shoulders never quite hunch beneath the trials of that fateful night at the air hanger. Her arm brushes against Steve’s, shocking her out of her daydream.

While the men laugh and joke, she tunes them out. Eventually they become nothing but a murmur of voices as she surveys the pub quickly, noting how the men and women seated at the tables are faceless.

Steve accidentally elbowing her snaps her attention back to her table.

“I was thinking of buying this place,” Sameer says seriously, looking at each of his friends. “Given we are here so much. Free drinks on the barkeep!”

Etta almost chokes on her beer. "With what money?” Chief lets out a mighty roar of a laugh.

Sameer frowns. “I’ll get myself a very rich wife.”

Steve laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Sameer frowns at Steve, turning away from him as he mock whispers loudly to Charlie. “Not all of us can have wonder women. Show off.”

Resting his arm along the top of the booth cushion, Steve leans in toward her. “Hey,” he says quietly, “you okay?”

From the corner of her eye, she assesses the room once more. The lights are bright, the smoke scentless, and the beer Etta drinks never lowers in her jug, despite how much she’s drunk so far — and she's rightfully pissed, cheeks tinted a lovely pink. 

Diana looks to Steve, forcing a smile. “Yes,” she says, to the furrow of his brow. It only deepens. Sighing, Diana shifts where she sits. “This isn’t right,” she says, looking around once more. “None of this is true.”

Steve glances around, eyes firstly gliding over everything before they seem to settle on the eccentricities of the bar. “This isn't the bar I remember,” he murmurs. “I mean — it’s not the bar that I know. It’s too quiet. Too clean.” He sighs, sounding disappointed, “This isn’t real, is it?”

Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head. “It can be,” she says. “But it isn’t.”

Steve’s brows furrow, then realisation brightens his eyes. “Oh.” Leaning back slightly, he comes back to her, invading her space. Lowly, “Oh.”

When they both turn back to face their friends, the booth is empty. The pints are gone. Silence immediately fills the pub, the lights dimming, and the people gone. They sit in the dark booth together.

Before either of them can stand, the pub fills with smoke. At first it’s tasteless, only thick in density as it curls like vines around the legs of tables, stretching over the bar and reaching for the ceiling. Eventually it wraps around them. 

As quickly as it comes, it disappears within an exhale.

Still sitting in their round booth, the golden walls around them shine blindingly beneath the stoking of a smithy. The ceiling and the walls are textured like that of the inside of a cave.

A silhouette approaches them with heavy steps, the ground reverberating beneath their feet. Diana’s hands dig into the wood of the table and the stretched fabric of the cushion, ready to propel herself forward. The torches hooked to the cave-like walls flares at his approach.

Then the torches soften, revealing a man with a sharp nose and with warm, burning eyes. Snapping large, glowing red tongs in his hands, Hephaestus regards them with an unflinching glare. “It's about time you lot got here,” he remarks in a deep booming voice, the words turning to smoke as the tendrils creep along the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the five times was: five times diana had the chance to stay.
> 
> 1\. as her younger self, on the beach.  
> 2\. on themyscira, to fight steppenwolf.  
> 3\. at the airhanger, within the depths of her despair.  
> 4\. at the pub.  
> 5\. to come ...


	7. be my only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“i’m coming,” he says. “i have to do this. i have to be brave, like you.”_ or the one where diana and steve come to a crossroads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written for wondertrev's love week day 7 prompt, "present day." i can't believe this is coming to an end!
> 
> as always, this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. thanks for reading! ♥

Diana extends her arm to shield Steve as Hephaestus hovers. Smoke thinly coils around him, lips breathing it out as he peers down at them with his burning eyes. Peering at his skin, she notes how his veins are hot like flames — it’s like lava has seeped into the cracks of the broken earth of his skin and muscle.

It’s Steve who finds his voice. “You’ve been waiting for us?” He shifts behind her, peering over her shoulder, but he doesn’t move forward. He allows her to shield him — not that he has much of a choice to begin with.

Hephaestus’ shoulder lifts. “Thought it was obvious,” he says, lips barely moving beneath thick grey curls. It’s then Diana realises his beard is made of threaded smoke. “Fire’s been burning long before you got here, Princess,” he nods towards Diana. “Got something for you.”

Diana frowns. “You have something for me?”

Hephaestus grunts, the flames of his long, endless smithy bursting brightly before they dimmer. “Is the fire too loud again? Had problems with another mortal bunch understanding me because of it.”

When she looks back at Steve, she finds his expression mirrors her own. He shakes his head; Steve’s following no better than she is.

“Diana of Themyscira,” Hephaestus roars gently. He turns his back on them, feet heavy against the ground as he approaches the fires of his smithy. Of this realm, his cavern is the warmest part Diana has ventured toward. Long in length, with a low ceiling and warm walls. When she peers toward where the fire seems to be burning, she sees an entire length of it, rather than it burning behind one small and isolated grate. “I don’t know why you act so surprised that a God of my tenure would have something for you.”

Diana begins to rise, slowly pushing herself away from the booth. It sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the ancient equipment of his smithy. The walls remain that of dirt, with the ground hardly fairing any better.

With his back to them, Hephaestus stands close to his burning fire, tongs snapping as he almost throws his entire arm into the flames. Withdrawing the body of an axe, he places it delicately onto a cooling rack a few steps away. The smithy only amplifies in its heat. Sweat begins to congeal at the base of her neck.

There’s a clang, the movement of metal and other hard objects, as Hephaestus retrieves something long and hidden beneath shadows — strange, given how well lit the smithy is — and holds it up where only he can see it. Broad body blocking it, he remains enthralled by what he holds in his hands, almost forgetting he has visitors.

If they can be called that.

Letting out a satisfied sigh, he lowers what he holds, and approaches them with heavy steps that cause the smithy to almost tremble. Diana stands, remaining still, not quite poised to fight.

Hephaestus looms over her, peering down from his height of seven feet. With a broad body and arms thick with muscle, he could almost be considered handsome if not for the puckered skin of his face, neck, and arms. It’s almost as though he’s been burned, but it doesn’t appear like the ugly, painful scars humans of man’s world wear.

His movement is sudden and smooth that Diana can’t help but jump as he extends his arm toward her. Holding what she recognises to be a hilt toward her, she hesitantly reaches out to wrap her fingers delicately around it. 

Wood. Warm, humming with that of a fire’s kiss, but not like the scorching sun that would sear her hand and cause her skin to bubble.

He releases the rest of the blade, allowing her to hold it up to the darkened ceiling. The torches along the walls suddenly burst with flame, reflecting brightly in the metal.

“This is the sword I had on the beach,” she says, frowning. The patterns are almost identical of the sword her younger self had wielded, the blade longer and the hilt thicker. It’s been made for an adult, and not a child who has yet to bear the strength of a warrior.

Diana lowers the sword and looks up at Hephaestus, finding him peering down at her patiently. The smoke lingers around him, but the smell becomes pleasant. “Why do I have this sword?”

“Why do you think?” he asks, smoke curling from his lips and nostrils. “It is a gift.”

“From Hera?”

Hephaestus releases an amused, derogatory sound. Shaking his head, his smile twists his face into something attractive. “Have mercy,” he says, chuckling. It’s like the bubbling of fire. “It’s from Father.”

Diana peers at it again, examining the sword as it glints beneath the glow of the smithy’s torches. It’s then she notices the lightning bolts, lightly etched into the hilt and the blade itself.

Steve’s hand rests against her shoulder as he looks at it with an unstudied eye. “This is from Zeus?” he asks.

Hephaestus’ affirmative hum is a flame’s rumble.

Steve glances at the sword, but no longer studies it in the manner she does. “Why can’t he give it to her himself?” She searches for a fault in its forgery, while he investigates for one in its reason for being.

“Do you know who created my smithy?” Hephaestus says slowly, fired eyes flicking toward Steve. He glances toward her admiring the blade, gliding her fingers along its surface with a delicate touch. 

Steve doesn’t turn his head as he peers between Diana and Hephaestus. She watches from the corner of her eye, lowering the blade despite not wishing to.

“No, sir.”

The God of Fire chuckles warmly at that. “I did,” he says. “I wanted a smithy, so I created a smithy. Forged it from fire itself — a fire sparked by rubbing two sticks together, if you’d believe.”

Steve’s lips curve upward in amusement. “Really? That’s very …”

“Asinine,” Hephaestus supplies. “Human. Yes … But I was a boy cast from the heavens by Hera herself. She did not love me, and so Zeus was afraid to do so, too.”

Diana tilts her head as she regards him. “Yet Hera allowed me here. She told me herself.”

“I cannot answer that for you, my sister,” Hephaestus bows his head momentarily, apologetic. “Hera does many compassionate and dispassionate things. Like that of the sky, oftentimes she is beautiful, and sometimes she is not.”

Diana murmurs, “And Zeus is out of reach, like the sky …”

Hephaestus’ affirmative hum sparks the fires behind him, his entire smithy lighting up before dimming once more. “You are the daughter of the Amazons, Diana. Forged by their hands, sparked by their flame. Zeus may have struck you with a bolt of lightning, and blessed you with the godliness that our blood shares, but you are not his daughter. You are the true daughter of Hippolyta, just as I am the true son of fire.”

Kinship sparks within her, warm and humming, like the flames of the torches. She shakes her head, feeling sheepish. “I used to yearn for the truth of my heritage. Why was I the only child on the island? Why was I not allowed to be a warrior? And all this time … Sometimes I wonder if I asked the right questions.”

Hephaestus reaches out to touch her bare bicep, hand warm, tingling as fire tickles her skin. “Why is a sword made? Because it is beautiful and wanted, and deserving of the life it has been given.”

Without looking, Diana reaches for Steve’s hand, finding his fingers intertwine with her own with the same fervour. 

Hephaestus turns to Steve, raising his hand with his fingers bar his index curled into his palm. “I have something for you.”

Startled, Steve looks between the two of them in search for clarification. “For me? Are you sure?”

Once again, the fires of the smithy burst into flame, this time in conjunction with the God of Fire’s laughter. He turns away from them, walking with long, heavy strides towards his stone cooling rack.

He returns with a thin and glowing piece of metal. Holding it out for Steve to take from the palm of his hand, he looks down at it and explains, “It’s a watch. What Hera failed to explain to you is that Cerberus is the keeper of souls. When one escapes into the world of man, he hunts them until they are found, and returns them to their kennel in Hades.”

Steve’s brows rise. “Nice to know.”

Diana’s lips press together in displeasure.

“It won’t burn you,” Hephaestus continues, glancing toward the watch. “It is merely a watch. Indestructible, and of my own design.”

Steve reaches out to delicately take it from the cradle of the God’s hand. It glints like that of Diana’s sword beneath the flames of the fire. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

“A sword fit for a pilot,” Hephaestus says. “It’s not a plane, but it will do.”

Steve looks up at him, brows arched. “Can you forge a plane?”

Hephaestus chuckles.

Diana reaches out to brush her fingers delicately over the band of the watch. It’s as warm as the hilt of her blade. Steve glances at her before he fastens it to his wrist, holding his hand out toward the torches to study it from different angles. “This is really nice of you,” he says. “Thanks.”

Hephaestus raises his hand, arm blocking their eyesight, as he points toward a long, dark corridor. Once his finger raises, the torches turn to flame, lighting one by one along the cavern. “You’ll find your door,” he says, smoke slipping from his lips and seemingly curling along the base of the floor in the distance. “And your way home.”

Diana reaches out to his arm, lowering it with her strong but gentle touch. “You have been kind,” she says, drawing his fire-lit eyes toward her. “I thank you.”

Hephaestus nods once.

“Take this,” he says, leaning over them. His arm seems to extend as he reaches for the torch in its wire holder, releasing it from the wall. Its long stem is familiar to her hand, as though her fingers have imprinted upon it. “It's yours. I only needed it for a temporary light.”

Steve glances toward the torch, but doesn't offer to take it. It isn’t his to carry. It has been hers, from the commencement of her journey and to its conclusion.

“Don’t take off your watch,” Hephaestus nods toward it on Steve’s wrist, hiding beneath his long sleeve. “Not even when it’s time.”

Brows furrowing, Steve looks between them. “Time for … what, exactly?”

But the God of Fire has turned away, his footsteps slow and heavy as he moves toward his fires. He begins to hum a melody, one Diana can’t recognise. Sheathing her sword against the back of her armour, she takes Steve’s hand and gently tugs him along. “Come,” she says quietly. “We have overstayed already.”

He walks beside her easily, hand remaining light in her own. As they venture along the long cavern of the smithy, the fires die out behind them, giving life to the ones head of them. Behind them, darkness follows, but ahead of them, light guides.

“Can I just say I'm really glad you’re here?” Steve almost laughs. “I’m freaking out.”

Diana smiles kindly. “You're handling this well.”

“Well enough,” he says, carding his other hand through his hair. “I feel like this is all a dream. Like one of those uncomfortably vivid dreams you have where you know you’re asleep but you also think you’re awake, and there’s parts of the dream you don't want to be untrue.”

She chuckles. “I know the feeling,” she says. Squeezing his hand tighter, she glances up at the ceiling, noting how the earth cracks into various thin lines and is lit by the embers of fire, creating a pattern like that of the night sky. It reminds her of the cave her aunt had tucked her inside to train, but the one in Themyscira had lacked the intricate, powerful cracks of fire embedded into its lifelines. “But this is real. I can assure you.”

“Do you know where we’re heading now?” Steve glances toward her almost too eagerly. “Usually I’m the one with the map, but this place doesn’t have the usual street signs.”

“Yes,” she says, nodding in the direction of where they are walking. “Out.”

Straight ahead is the mouth of the smithy, like that of the cave. Beyond the rock walls is the silhouette of trees, lit up by the light, shimmering glow of the moon. Diana wishes to skip and run toward it, but she only holds Steve’s hand tighter and picks up her pace just slightly.

Once out of the smithy, Diana peers up at the night sky and recognises the way the canopy threads tightly above her, concealing them in a cage of lovely nightly darkness. She smiles, almost spinning on the spot. Steve peers at her quizzically.

“You know this place.”

She nods. “Yes,” she almost sings. 

A twig cracks. Diana stops peering up at the thick canopy of soft, healthy leaves, and sees Hecate in her dark shadows stand before her. With her hands clasped in front of her, a smile so beautiful it reflects the night sky, she appears happy. Pleased. It sparks something warm inside Diana’s chest.

“Diana,” Hecate greets warmly, as a nudge at the back of her legs startles her. Peering down, she smiles even wider at the black she-dog nuzzling the top of her boot. She catches a glimpse of where they had come from the mouth of Hephaestus’ smithy, finding only trees circle them now.

They stand at a crossroads much smaller than the one Diana had begun at.

Hecate moves forward, but doesn’t stand too close. “I have been waiting excitedly for you.”

Steve peers between them, a furrow to his brow. “You know each other.”

Diana takes a step forward, releasing Steve’s hand for a moment to reach for Hecate’s. The Goddess allows her to take her own, hands as cold as that of night, and not quite as solid as bone and skin. It’s still pleasant to touch her. “She is Hecate,” she introduces. “Goddess of the crossroads, and magic.”

Releasing her hand, Diana touches the top of the black she-dogs head, scratching behind its ear.

“For you to be here, you have been successful in your journey,” Hecate says, pleased. “And now I must bid you farewell.”

Diana’s face falls. It had always been inevitable, to say goodbye to this realm. To the people and beings that had made the patchwork of who she happens to be, and who she can become if she only strives to take on her shape. Still, saying goodbye is still such a new concept for her. She almost reaches for Hecate again in desperation, but withholds the impulse to do so.

“Don’t look so sad,” Hecate smiles kindly. She reaches out to touch Diana’s cheek gently in an effort to comfort her. “This is not the end, for there are many paths to choose from here.” Hand drifting away, Hecate gestures towards the small dirt crossroads they stand upon.

The Goddess stands before Steve, hands clasped in front of her. The black she-dog departs from Diana to sniff at his feet, focusing particularly at his shoes. Hecate doesn’t appear too worried about the activity of her black she-dog, instead keeping her nightly gaze upon him.

“You have the mark of Hephaestus to protect you,” she says, not once looking down upon his wrist. Steve does, pulling back his sleeve to see the thin watchband has settled upon his skin. “And that of Artemis.”

Their attention is drawn to the side by a rustling of leaves. Venturing out from beneath the brush is the doe, trilling happily at the sight of Diana. She smiles,warmly at her newfound friend, but the affection only lasts for a few moments. It’s the sight of large, elegant antlers emerging from the leaves beside the doe that draws a furrow to her brows.

“That is the stag from Artemis’ Temple,” she says, confused. “He was hurt by Hera.”

“When she took Steve,” Hecate supplies. The stag stands beside the doe, both tall and holding themselves elegantly. They don’t move from the edge of the crossroads, remaining banded together. “She was your guide,” she says, “and he was his.”

“What about the pegasus?” Steve frowns, looking around for the white beast. “He was a pretty good pal.”

“He is safe,” Hecate says. “He cannot venture into my woods, but that does not mean he isn’t here.”

Steve shakes his head. “I'm sorry … Miss,” he settles uncertainly. “You lost me.”

With a hand raised toward the doe and stag, they witness the fluttering of wings against the stag’s sides. The wings fail to unfurl to their true size, but they remain like a white shadow upon its warm brown fur.

Hecate steps toward Diana, fingers wrapping tightly around the hand that holds the torch. She takes it from her gently, cradling it between her own fingers as she steps back. The flame begins to wilt, then sparks into life once more, as though it’s exhaled.

"For as long as the torch burns,” she recites, “you will not be called upon. But when it ceases,” she says, as the flames begin to putter out, “you will come for the Fates beckon it.” At the opening of her fingers, the flames dance to life, almost spitting toward the canopy curved above them.

Diana’s hand feels empty without the torch to hold. “Do you know how long it will burn for?” 

“For as long as our winter,” she answers. “For twenty-five years within the world of man, it will burn. Once twenty-five years comes to pass, the flames will cease once more.”

“And I’m going back in my kennel,” Steve surmises, voice sounding rough with disappointment. “Like Persephone, until winter comes again.”

Hecate smiles. “Some would say she is being freed,” she says. “Others believe to return to the world beyond Hades is to retreat to a prison.”

He looks to Diana. “I get that.”

Diana reaches out for his hand, squeezing tightly. “It will be okay,” she says gently. “It is a long time, but it is _time._ ”

“Time that you’ve earned,” Hecate says. “And time that you must elect to choose wisely. I cannot promise those from this realm will not try to interfere, but you are Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippoylta, niece of Antiope, and the child of the Amazons. Zeus’ daughter will never see to it this flame wilts like that of a dying flower.” She holds it higher, the fire illuminating the woods around them. “For as long as it burns, you will have your time.”

“I will not let it die out,” Diana declares, peering up at it. Her face feels warm as the flames flicker, as though being fed her cry. 

“And so you must conclude your journey,” Hecate says, stepping aside. With the arm holding the torch outstretched, she gestures toward the road ahead of them. “Take the road, and it will lead you to where you belong. But do not stray. My woods are my own, but sometimes even my trees have deceitful ears and eyes.”

Breathing in deeply, Diana steels her shoulders. She turns to Steve, who’s looking at her, bright blue eyes fearful. She grips his hand tightly, almost painful with her strength. “You don’t have to come.”

He shakes his head. “I’m coming,” he says. “I have to do this. I have to be brave, like you.”

She smiles. “I have always wanted to be brave like you.”

He blushes. She takes the opportunity to gently pull him along, glancing over her shoulder to see the black she-dog stand beside the shadowed, misty skirts of Hecate, who remains standing tall in the centre of her crossroads. Waiting patiently for them to leave. Perhaps longing for them to stay.

A rustle in the bushes beside them reveals the doe and stag walking parallel to them. They remain hidden behind the leaves, snapping twigs with their hooves and sneezing. Despite feeling the temptation to wander over toward them, Diana remains on her path.

She cannot waver. She will not waver.

The walk along the dirt road feels long, with the trees clustered tightly together and the canopy above them knitted carefully to obscure the moon hidden above them. She keeps her head high, her eyes straight ahead, and Steve’s hand in her own.

Despite wishing to hear his voice, neither of them speak. He peers up at the woods around them as they walk, enamoured by the way it appears like that of the world he knows, and that of the world he perhaps only will come to know through her. Sometimes she catches herself admiring him, thrilled by the familiar slope of his nose, the dusting of freckles on his cheek, and the familiarity of his presence. She feels like she’s drunk on it.

A chance glance toward the ground sees a familiar dirt road. The crossroads she had emerged upon appears in the distance, stretched out before her like that of an old friend’s arms opening wide in greeting. She glances to the side to see the doe and stag in thinner brush, slowing in their footsteps. She notes the doe often has to nudge the stag none too gently into remaining straight along their path.

The clear woods eventually turns to mist, pretty whites like that of Poseidon's sea spray and murky greys like that of Hephaestus’ beard thicken before them, cloaking the woods until the trees, the canopy, and even the doe and stag can no longer be seen nor heard.

The smoke remains thick for too long. Their steps become clumsy and uncertain, with Steve's shoulder bumping into hers too many times to count. She prefers it that way, with the acknowledgement he is still there, that he hasn’t been snatched from her hands once again. 

Then it breaks, diffusing upon the exhale of their short breaths, to reveal tall buildings, a familiar, blue-grey sky, and the sounds of a bustling city.

She watches him as he gazes upon the windows, the cars passing in a short distance before them as they appear from a thin, dark alleyway. 

“Ah,” he says, smiling. “London's still as hideous as I remember it.”


	8. i follow you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _might as well go face the world._ or the one where diana and steve finally have time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been sitting on this chapter like a chicken, picking at it and trying to make sure i've captured everything i wanted. no doubt i've forgotten something i thought to include, but i have to say i'm as happy as i can be with it. this was written for wondertrev's loveweek day 8 prompt "reunion" and has an easter egg or two thrown into it for _ww84_ (for what we know of spoilers) and _batman vs superman_. 
> 
> as always, this is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. thanks so much for reading and coming along this journey with me! ♥

She doesn’t feel much time passes. One moment, she’s in 1918, the next, on the cusp of beginning 1984. Sixty-six years is a long time for man, but for a woman like her, existing between two bookends is a quick blink-and-you-miss-it dream.

With those bookends in particular, Diana blinks, and she misses it all — gratefully.

Pulling at the lapels of his leather jacket, she tugs at the shoulders, shoves at the sleeves, and even considers untucking his white shirt from his jeans. Steve stops her then with a sheepish smile, informing her he can do it on his own.

“I don’t remember ever being so hands on when you were the fish out of water,” he says. His neck’s tinted a warm pink, which travels to his cheeks and pops against the blue of his eyes.

“You didn’t,” she answers simply, looking him over as she tries to tune her memories of him to what he looks like now. The environment is all wrong — this isn’t a dress shop, with endless mirrors and an incredibly unnecessary amount of choking garments for women. They stand in the middle of the living room of her apartment, couches pushed to the sides as she has him stand in the very centre. “Etta did. She placed her hands in places no one has ever put their hands before.”

When she looks up at him, he’s staring at her, shellshocked. She laughs.

“Right,” he says, slowly smiling. “You’re doing that thing where you joke at my expense again. Kind of didn’t miss it.”

Her laugh only grows louder.

He turns on the spot, arms held wide. “What do you think? Do I look like I belong here?”

She finally lets go, taking a step back to admire him. Crossing her arms, she tilts her head and purses her lips, taking his question seriously. Perhaps _too_ seriously, given how he squirms beneath her assessing stare.

It’s been a long week trying to find the Steve Trevor within 1984. Although she has no doubt he’d pull off a sharply cut black blazer, or a soft grey jacket, the Steve Trevor she knows isn’t one who is without his fur coats and his warm turtlenecks.

Perhaps that’s her issue: trying to find the past within the present. She can’t force him to take the shape of a Steve who would be on the cusp of his nineties.

She lifts her gaze to him. “Yes.”

Releasing a breath, she watches how his entire body uncoils from being wound so tightly. “Good,” he says. “Hopefully that’ll help me start feeling like I do.”

Closing the distance between them, Diana reaches out to touch his cheek. “You will,” she says gently. He leans into her touch, smiling warmly — gratefully. “You helped me belong in this world. I will do my best to help you.”

“I know you said a week ago that there were still things here that I’d know.” He watches her, obviously noting how she brightens at the reminder. A week ago they’d reentered the world of man, to a London that had changed in how it chose to wear itself. Half the buildings he recalled had been demolished and rebuilt upon, and then the other half had been dressed differently — with a tailored cut to their shoulders, or with a looser fit around its own trimming. 

Selfishly, she can’t bear to hear he cannot find his home within the new dressing this era wears.

“I have been dying to show you the perfect place,” she says brightly. “You’ll love it. I promise. Are you ready to leave?”

He looks unsure. “In this?”

Diana shakes her head in amusement. She walks toward her dining table, removing a coat from the back of a chair and returning to him with it. She holds it out for him to see it. Thick and warm, with fur at the collar, it’s almost an exact replica of the coat he’d worn in Veld beneath the soft snowflakes.

Steve’s face brightens as he studies it, reaching out to touch it gently between his fingers. She wonders if he’s afraid it’ll disappear. Once he determines it won’t, he’s quickly out of his leather jacket and in his coat, allowing her to assist him before he takes over in pulling the arms over his own and settling the weight of the collar against his jacket.

“How do I look now?” he grins.

“Handsome,” she says, arms folded against her chest. “I prefer this on you.”

He tugs at the collar again before he slips his hands into the pockets. “It’s going to take some time getting used to all of this. The fun packs —”

“Fanny packs,” she corrects gently.

“Right,” he says, though not so convincingly. “Those useful fanny packs. I can’t believe how much you can store in those things.”

“It won’t go with your outfit, Steve,” she chuckles. “You have pockets that are deep enough for your things.”

“The few things I have,” he says, though cheerily. Pressing his lips together in disappointment, he sighs as he looks toward the black fanny pack sitting on the arm of the couch. “Maybe next time I could wear it with that, uh …” Freeing his hand from his pocket, he clicks his fingers, as if the sound will summon the word.

“Tracksuit,” she supplies. “We can go for a run.”

“Or a walk.”

“Or a walk,” she concedes. “A walk around the park,” she says. “We can start there, and then go wherever you want.”

He smiles, but it only lasts for a few moments. He becomes awkward, eyes not quite catching her own as he glances down. “Don’t you have things to do? You know … this is your life. I’m interrupting it.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says easily. He looks up at her, as if to spot the lie. With the lasso of Hestia looped in her closet, he’ll simply have to make do with the glow of her smile. “I go for a walk around this time. I won’t be too upset if it’s with someone for once.”

He nods, conceding.

He inhales, a little more shakily than she’d like. “Might as well go face the world.”

They walk side by side, him in his comfortable jeans and fur coat, and her dressed in her comfortable blouse and flared slacks. Although Steve has had seven and a half days to readjust to the way she now dresses, he still seems so surprised to see her in more than the armour she wore in the realm of the gods and the tight dresses of 1918.

A part of her has felt like slipping her armour, just so he’d have something a little more familiar to settle with.

Thankfully the walk is short. The moment they hit the sidewalk, Diana can feel Steve tense, holding his breath as he follows quite closely on her heels. Half a building away, across a street, and into a neighbouring park, she guides him toward an ice-cream cart in the very centre surrounded by trees. Steve looks around, trying to appear less like a fish out of water and more like someone who belongs in these streets as he once had. His wide eyes and curious expression often undoes what he tries so desperately to portray.

The dark-haired woman behind the cart doesn’t speak to her at all, instead scooping ice-cream into two cones and handing them to Diana with a smile. “Di,” she says then. Dimples press in her cheeks. “You brought a friend?”

Diana smiles. “Yes,” she says, gesturing to Steve. “He is one of my oldest friends. I wanted to show him the best parts of the city.”

The woman smiles. “On the house,” she says, then appears amused by her own self. “Or the cart. Come back, yeah? I’ll have your favourite topping for you tomorrow.”

“What’s that?” Steve asks her.

“Chocolate,” Diana smiles. “We’ll have it tomorrow. I want you to have something special today.” With a wave to the woman, Diana guides Steve gently by his elbow, keeping her hand there as they slow their pace. Walking laps around the park seems the easiest way to keep him from being spooked by the sounds and the ample activity of London today.

“Why didn’t you get it?” he asks her, almost turning back toward the cart. “You don’t have to change your life for me.”

Diana shakes her head, pressing her lips together as she has already begun to devour her vanilla cone. “I want you to feel like you’re at home,” she says to him gently. “And for that to happen, I want to revisit some things. Do you remember when you took me to get ice-cream?”

He smiles. “Yeah.” He doesn’t begin to lick his cone, holding it as though it’s an umbrella — far away from himself. “You were so intrigued by it. I remember you thought it was the best thing.”

“It still is,” she says, feeling a blush warm her cheeks. “Try it. I promise it’s wonderful. It isn’t that gentleman’s ice-cream, but it is his granddaughter’s.”

Steve’s eyes widen, but he says nothing. It’s easy to tell he’s overwhelmed, despite his best efforts in not showing it.

Peering down at the cone, he holds it slightly higher so he can inspect it. Some of the ice-cream begins to melt, slowly dripping onto his hand. Diana’s overcome with the childish temptation to lick it, but she leaves it for Steve, instead focusing on her own dripping ice-cream.

Then, he inhales, and takes a leap of faith. Moaning satisfactorily, he turns to her, brows furrowed, and surprise warming his features and her chest. “This ice-cream,” he begins, mouth full, “is the best thing I’ve had since … well …” 

“1918,” she supplies.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down at the cone in his hand.

She notes how his brightly burning demeanour begins to dimmer, like the sun setting beneath large and overwhelming mountains. So, she leans forward and licks at his ice-cream, eliciting an incredulous laugh and an arch to his brow.

“Did you really just do that?”

She shrugs innocently, returning to her own ice-cream cone.

“You’ll pay for that,” he says, smiling. He returns to his cone, enjoying it as she had once done so along a train station’s buzzing platform. The street is no different with the bustling of people walking past and almost into them, but the air feels thinner, less compact and intimate. Maybe that’s why he prefers the ice-cream from 1918. “Mark my words,” he threatens, smile intact.

“I’m shaking in my trousers,” she says.

“Boots,” he corrects, amused. “It’s boots, Diana. A lot has changed, but that …” He shakes his head, taking a bite of his ice-cream and immediately shivering from the cold. “That wouldn’t have changed.”

Rather than guide him back to her apartment building, they begin to make rounds around the park’s walkways. She notes how his gaze flitters to and fro, from what must be the shadow of a familiar building before its familiarity disappears into that of a stranger standing before him. Diana wishes to guide his hand, to help him navigate the map of this city that had once been his to pilot, but she knows Steve will need to find it on his own.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if you hadn’t gotten into that plane,” she murmurs. Keeping her gaze straight ahead makes this easier. She may be a warrior of Amazonian blood, but Diana has always been fearful of taking a leap of faith when it comes to this: others valuing her over themselves.

“I can’t say that I wish I hadn’t,” he says. The ice-cream in his cone is disappearing, and she hears the crunch of cone. Hers is long since gone, her hand now empty of it. “I wasn’t lying when I said I could save that day. I hope I did. I know you’ve told me I have, but I just have to hope that I saved it. I never wanted to say any other day than that day, because I just knew …” he shakes his head, inhaling sharply. “I just knew it was all I could do.”

She stares at him intensely. “You did a lot more than simply pilot a plane, Steve. You saved lives. You saved everyone. And you continue to save everyone.” At his confused look, Diana glances away, finding herself blushing. “Losing you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to come to terms with. I had never lost anyone, not until Antiope, and not until you. There were days where I felt like giving up, but the thought of you and what you had done kept me going.” 

When she glances up, she finds he’s staring at her, watching her every move. “Only some parts of the world know of what I do. Of who I am. They almost didn’t.”

“Wonder Woman,” he answers softly. Every newspaper on the stands had caught his eye. She couldn’t leave him along a sidewalk without him wanting her to buy a newspaper — each edition had a similar heading, even the same photo, but he had craved to open its pages and read of her regardless. Brows furrowing, he shakes his head. “The world should know about her, Diana. They should know about you. You’re a source of hope — of inspiration.”

She smiles, lips pressed together, touched by his unwavering faith in her. If only it had been so simple. If only she had been compelled to tackle the obstacles of human life with the strength it takes to pummel into the side of a tank, or leap from the ground onto the tallest of buildings. But it had deserted her, just as she had felt her family had done so. “Losing all of you made it difficult to want to save people,” she admits, voice cracking in its lower timbres. “I felt so awful for it for the longest time.”

Steve’s fingers wrap around her own, gentle at first before they become a fierce grip. “No one would ever blame you for grieving, Diana,” he says. “It’s normal to want to hide in the shadows.”

Tilting her head up, she frowns. “And not save the world?”

“Sometimes even Wonder Woman needs to take a moment for herself,” he says, shrugging. Pressing his lips together in a slight upward curve, it feels like forgiveness in the shape of something familiar. “You've never given up. I mean,” he looks down at himself, taking a step away from her to gesture toward his legs and his upper body, “I wouldn’t be here if you did. I’m here because of you. You never gave up on me. And,” he inhales deeply, as though summoning unneeded courage, “if I have to believe in you, then I will. I’m not giving up, Diana. I knew the moment that you pulled me from my plane that you were meant for something greater.”

His hand reaches up to gently touch her face. “I’m not giving up on you,” he says with a smile. “And that means that if you want to give up, just for a second, then that’s okay. Because I won’t. Not even when these twenty-five years are up and I have to go back to being at the beck and call of your aunt.” The intensity of his blue eyes softens as he smiles. Warmly, he comments, “She’s bossy.”

Diana laughs, turning into his palm to kiss his cheek — and to hide. Steve’s gaze is unwavering, just like his smile. “She is very bossy,” she says. “I'm surprised she didn't eat you alive.”

“She almost did,” he answers with a laugh. He hands her his ice-cream, with only the cone left to finish. She takes it gratefully. “Seriously. There was a moment there where I thought I was a goner.”

Dropping his hand, he grips hers in his own, fingers intertwined tightly.

“What are we going to do at the end of all of this?” he says, glancing up at the sky above them. She follows where he’s wandered, peering up at the light blue sky, at the pigeons flying above them. The tops of the buildings are just within reach if she was to extend her hand.

When she looks back at him, he’s studying her. With her ice-cream eaten, she has nothing to stall for a few extra seconds to think of the perfect reply. But nothing will ever be satisfying enough for her. 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Wait out the twenty-five years until the next block begins?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he says gently. “After this quarter, you live. And then I get to come back to Wonder Woman being one of the biggest heroes this world has ever seen,” he says proudly, smile brightening his handsome face.

She blushes, ducking her head for a moment. Looking off to the side, she gently admits, “I don’t want to think about it.”

“No harm in it,” he says. “Neither do I. But I'm going to keep reminding you until it's time. We’re lucky this isn’t the only time we've been given.”

She squeezes his fingers, wrapping her other hand above his to ensure his fingers are locked into place within the spaces of her own. Sometimes she wishes she had his bravery. Having him returned to her reminds her of what she had before it was stolen from her, and what she has managed to thieve back in return. Is it so wrong of her to want it to last for eternity?

Once she lets her other hand drop, he tugs her gently along as they walk off the park’s path and onto the grass. When they reach the sidewalk, her hands are empty of his. It isn’t for long, though.

His shoulder brushes hers. Then, his hand is in her own. Glancing down, she peers up at him to find him looking at her intently. He shrugs, and says, “People who are together hold hands.” She smiles, feeling her face burn as though she is staring into the pits of Hephaestus’ smithy, and shakes her head with an embarrassed laugh. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Please stop.” She squeezes his hand, holding it so tightly nothing could tear his fingers from her own.

She doubts he’ll heed her request. Before he can think of an infuriating response, he cocks his head to the side. It must be someone or something across the road that’s captured his attention yet again. She slows her pace, allowing him time to be as enraptured as she had been years before.

“Hey, look,” he nods toward an alleyway across the road. When Diana peers up, she sees it’s theirs — the one they’d emerged from Hecate’s woods. In the shadows is a glint of silver on the top of what appears to be a branch. Stepping into the light, she sees the stag, and the doe standing beside him, ears twitching as she trills. Hooves stomping on the ground twice, she notes how eyes beam brightly from the shadows beside them. It doesn’t step out from the shadows, but she knows it’s the black she-dog.

“Friends, huh?” he smiles. He pulls her into him and to the side of the sidewalk. She hadn’t noticed they’d stopped in the middle to stare at the mouth of the alley. “You know,” he admits quietly, “sometimes I feel like this is a dream. That I’ll wake up in my bed back in 1918, or I’d wake up, back in Hades.”

“It’s not a dream,” she murmurs gently. Tearing her gaze away from the alley, she peers up at him, brushing his hair away from his face. Her eyes glance up, noting small, soft flakes descending from the sky. “It’s magical.”

Steve peers down at her, allowing his gaze to flicker toward the alley, then up at the sky. Snow falls into her hair, where his fingers travel to pluck the flakes free. “Yeah,” he smiles. “It is, isn’t it?”

When she glances at the alley once more, the animals are gone. Steve tugs her along the sidewalk gently, hand in his. Diana rests her head against his shoulder before she unceremoniously lifts to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then to press her lips against his own. The movement pushes him off kilter, but Steve doesn’t so much as shriek.

Diana laughs with pure mirth. They have all the time in the world to find their footing.


End file.
